


To Have To Learn

by terryreviews



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard - Freeform, Barduil - Freeform, Barduil Big Bang, Barduil Big Bang 2015, Love, M/M, Romance, Sex, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terryreviews/pseuds/terryreviews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard of Laketown, a new king in his own right and Dragonslayer destined for greatness and Thranduil, the cool calculated Elven king of Mirkwood keeping inside of his kingdom come together to rescue the people of the Lake. Through battle, through a hard winter, through rebuilding and diplomacy the two kings grow in affection for one another as they take this journey to both work together for the sake of their people, and to eventually come together for their own sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Act

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO sorry it isn't finished like it was supposed to be! Throw rotten tomatoes, put me on the rack, I know! I'm so sorry! It WILL be finished tomorrow. It will! I have the remainder chapters ready to go, I just need to edit them to fit! Shout out to my artist and beta Maggie whom have done a great service! I need to go back in to the piece to put into place the actual edits Maggie did(I work first, got the edits, save them, and continued to write so I wouldn't back track) which I will do tomorrow, but I just NEEDED to get this piece posted. Unfortunately all my italics and the like have vanished so THAT will all be edited tomorrow as well to HOPEFULLY include them. HTML was the ONLY format that I could paste in. Otherwise it would've been a few hours of separating and arranging a solid block of text in RICH TEXT.

My artist did 3 GLORIOUS pieces for this. I tried to paste them DIRECTLY into the story where they needed to be, UNFORTUNATELY that seems to be out of my reach with all these technical difficulties I've been having with format. SO here is a link DIRECTLY to the glorious person and their art work for this piece http://alikuu.tumblr.com/post/116862588100/art-for-to-have-to-learn-by-terry

 

 

When the elves came to relieve the people of the lake, it broke their hearts. The grubby, injured babes impacted all the elves with a sting of realism. Their young skin torn open, the cold choking their lungs, mouths open and dry for need of water and food. Not to mention the tiny bodies lining the shores alongside all of the adults left behind when the survivors made to Dale. Pale faces unmoving, tinged with blue. To see these poor creatures who already had such little time as it was bobbing in the water, lined along in heaps, the grieved and injured that remained so eager for their help, many of the soldiers had to contain their confusion at the emotions building in them. So many dead left behind at the shores. And leading them through the night, into the morning, their king. Thranduil, back straight, chin up, ever the vision of regality upon his massive elk. Somber in his silent lead of those in his command, let the devastation pass by his eyes in indifference. The fires and roars could be heard all the way in the depths of the Greenwood, the deafening crash of Smaug's body against the water that had sent them all into near panic.

 

Just as he always has, he calmed the chaos with cool stares, fierce voice, and a graceful wave of his hand. He knew what needed to be done and led the other's efficiently in their mission. His priority would be to secure the aid of the people of the Lake. Now they had nothing. Upon his majestic beast, he would order the delivery of the supplies they would no doubt be eternally grateful for. Enough so perhaps to at least give their support for when they marched upon the mountain. If he had the more noble cause of simple relief, to ease their suffering out of mercy, he would keep that locked away in his heart. How similar this was to sixty years ago.  
“My Lord Thranduil, we did not look to see you here.” Bard, he'd heard the name before from those he'd send to the water to scout and reported back the human who collected their barrels. Bard was not the only one who collected or delivered goods, but he was one of the few that he'd never met. He'd met at least a couple before, yet he never actively remembered their names or duties so long as they did them well and left his territory when finished. Bard's duties had been arranged between his adviser and one of the master's and has been established for years at this point.  
“I heard you needed aid.” Thranduil's eyes stayed lidded as Bard's fell to the cart, to the elves who began distributing and those of his exhausted people taking the food and drink into their arms with cries of joy. Before, their bellies often were empty for nights one end, but they still had something, something to tide them over. The kindness of a neighbor, a fish or piece of fruit illegally acquired from under the master's eye.

  
The air dropped from his lungs and his heart clenched, “You have saved us. I do not know how to thank you.”  
“Your gratitude is misplaced. I did not come on your behalf. I came to reclaim something of mine.” The old hate, the bitterness reflected in the widening of his eyes, the bit in his voice for even a novice to sense.  
Bard's stomach dropped with a sickly tickling sensation. Devastation already wrought upon his people and now this Elf wished to wage war? What more would his people have to endure? To have first the dragon, and then a needless war on their broken doorstep? Not to speak of the pointlessness of the entire endeavor. Loss of life over gems? Loss of life period, even those who brought this fate to them, was not idealistic, and when Bard had stepped out passed the steps and through the armor clad warriors, he knew what would happen. As the solders, led by the lord began marching past his people and up to the mountain, he had to try. He had to.

  
“Wait!”, he ran alongside the antlered beast and climbed to the top of fallen stone to try and meet Thranduil's face. “Please wait! You would go to war over a handful of gems?” He knew, as many, the notorious rivalry between the Dwarves and Elves. One side claiming dishonor and disrespect at the hands of unworthy clients to their skill, the other claiming theft and dishonor against their very being. The Elves had not paid the Dwarves fairly for their services so many years ago, and the Elves claimed the opposite and in the balance of it all a necklace of grand expense made with gems that glistened like starlight. Crafted into shape by the Dwarves, the Elves supplied the gems. A simple business venture morphing into distrust, disdain, to the very bottoms of their hearts withering away a once proud and strong alliance like a tree eaten away from the inside by a colony of ants. And Bard, being a simple bargeman, had no head for such frivolity when faced with the very taxation of living in hardship that it all seemed the foolish pride of two sides unwilling to compromise or at least try to.

  
Thranduil paused, if but a moment at the mortals words. The incredulously asked question, the brazen, and bold manner in which the other addressed him with no concern for rank, and no concept of the true worth of those “handful of gems”, raised his eyebrow.  
“The heirlooms of my people are not lightly forsaken.” Came his reply, satisfied the answer in and of itself justified his actions, though why he chose to even offer explanation to this human he did not bother to fathom for the anger long brewing in his body coupled with the latest assault to his inner peace with both his son and adopted daughter's disobedience gave him the answer, he did not care for lightly phrased tact. He cared little for the harsher judgments of a mortal man whom he owed no explanation and only knew his name through scouts and the murmurs through the encampment he could hear with his fine ears. Bard, the new leader of the people of the Lake. Bard, their salvation. Why him was still a mystery seeing as the murmurs of these folk were put to the back of his focus. Perhaps the sheer lack of fear in his eyes drew their respect for here he gave another attempt to stall him.

  
“We are allies in this.” Bard's eyebrows creased, mouth tugged down in plea “My people also have a claim upon the riches in that mountain. Let me speak with Thorin.”  
Speak to Thorin? Thranduil kept the muscles in his face stilled to avoid the look of disbelief.“You would try to reason with the Dwarf?”

  
“To avoid war?” Bard nodded, “yes.” The winter air blew around them and despite Bard's resilience, the grip upon his flesh could not go unnoticed. They needed the money to rebuild their homes, to shelter them from the ever bitter winds growing as winter drew on. Not only were the Elves, in all their arrogance, deserving on a claim of the treasures within the mountain, but so were his people and for much more valid reasons. To survive. If they were in more private quarters, and if the king had not just supplied much needed rations to his people, he might have said so. Instead, he clenched his fist and held his breath waiting for Thranduil to give the command to halt. A beat past before he called out in Elvish and the troops halted.

  
“Very well, if you think that you can reason with him, I will allow you the opportunity.”

  
If Bard was not so relieved that he managed to inject reason, he might have been offended by the idea that the king thought he needed his permission, that he had the authority to allow anything. Straightening his back, he gave a minute bow of his head before stepping from his perch and began his walk to the mountain. If he did not dawdle, he was confident he could make it up the path before night fall.  
As he walked, muscles aching with tiny pops and twinges in his legs and arms, he heard from behind “Surely you do not intend to leave me waiting as you walk the distance?” This time, not caring for his pain, Bard whipped around with brows knotted and teeth gritted to see a white horse next to the massive elk. The king's face indifferent as he gestured with his eyes towards the mount. “We shall see how convincing your diplomacy is.”

  
For a moment's breath the two's eyes met with irritation and amusement clashing between them as tangible as the snow on the ground before Bard simply tipped his head in a grateful bow and took the reins of the horse.  
\----

  
The mountain. He'd never been up on the mountain before, so close to the gates behind which Smaug used to lie in wait amongst the vast treasures he would have to fight for should Thorin deny him the bond of his word. Giant, grand, even with the edges of the gate crumpled and cracked as if they were paper in a fist. The dragon had burst forth from those gates. The wind alone from his monstrous body thundering the air, rumbling the houses and water below of his now destroyed town. His breath rancid as he rained fire down in thick sprays unto his victims. Bard shuttered to think of how close to death he, and mostly his children, had come. The blood pumping in his veins in painful thuds in his chest and temples when he had been trapped in the cell had been enough. His arms had strained then, against the bars, and his pleas gone unheard then. At least now Thranduil was willing to hear his pleas. Even if the other, so pompous in his graceful disgust and disinterest, deemed it folly his attempts at reason, the Elf was willing to let him try before needless death could happen.

  
As he ventured closer to the mouth of Erebor, Bard took note of each bump and bang the horse jolted in his body. Certainly he'd learned to ride, as had many of his kind. And while not often needed in his career of guiding barges and walking the planks of Laketown's “streets”, he'd learned to ride as a lad. But the aches left him wincing as his legs were spread further than he was used to, and to be bounced around tugged and pulled at taunt muscles. His arms still protested after his adventure the previous night of running between roofs and climbing massively tall ladders. And that he had to draw the largest bow he had ever had to make. A sharp pang of cold filled his stomach at the memory of Bain in front of him, eyes so wide and breath so shallow as he stood still for his Da. The trust his son instilled in him gave him the courage, the forced calm, to make his arrow true and now he would carry the title Dragon Slayer for the rest of his days and beyond in legend. Wisps of wind licked their chilly tongues along his face and neck as Bard's thoughts toyed and played in his mind in the quiet now allotted for them. Carrying his concerns, the trauma which he refused to allow to come, everything building up on his quiet, aching ride. As the faces, carved long ago in grand scale, of Dwarven kings stared down as he approached, Bard shook his head to bring the focus on his task at hand. He must negotiate peace and retrieve the rightful claim his people had on the gold of Erebor. Ten times over Thorin had claimed. Ten times over in its worth in gold would Laketown be rebuilt, and all Bard wanted was enough to rebuild what they had before.  
Broken stones had gathered into a make shift wall which under any other kind's hands would have crumpled to dust. However, with all their skill and stubborn fortitude, the Dwarves had managed a fairly stable wall with which to hide behind. If the Elven army marched however, the wall, no matter how well put together, certainly could not keep thousands of warriors out. All Thranduil had but do is wave a finger, and they would charge, climb, fight inside for him. To have that power thrusted upon him and all eyes and ears turned towards him for guidance left Bard to shake his head once more before approaching the fortress behind which Thorin and his kin hid. He made a slow but steady trot and halted his horse and cried out,

  
“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King under the mountain.”  
______  
Ash. He didn't think the mortals knew exactly what was falling from the sky. Perhaps mistaking it for snow. No. Not to his keen eyes or nose could the burnt flakes be mistaken as anything other than what it was. Ash twirling through the air. The morals, huddled and hungry, stayed out of his army's way as they began setting up their encampment, content to watch with narrowed eyes as they gnawed on the provisions brought for them like vultures on a bone. Were they so frightening that they've earned such suspicious eyes from these mortals? No matter. They could hide in their ruins like the Dwarf hid in his mountain. Their dirty faces peered from here and there, voices stayed encased in their throats, as they made room for the Elves. Thranduil's eyes wandered here and there much as his hearing did as they'd approached. Such frail beings. Yet, as he noticed a few of the more able bodied of the mortal lot began silently assisting in his soldiers' work, they could hold more than they seemed. Women and men, even a babe or two, offered without a word their hands with which to tug ropes and carry bundles.  
With age cultivated efficiency, his warriors built up the tents, stoked fires, and sorted all their tools from weapons to food in easy to gather order, nodding their thanks to those who offered their service. Which, to their amusement and curiosity, was mostly shrugged off with a harsh wave of the hand. No thanks needed, it is not a problem for us, it said. Even a mirthless smile could be seen as they offered back their gesture to the other's gratitude.

  
Thranduil blinked away the ash that had fallen upon his skin and waited for this bold bargeman to return with the answer he already knew would come. Still, a charming (or disheartening) aspect of the youthful was their hope. Bard held hope, a little candle light within himself that he cupped in his hands preventing the evils (or jaded ancient kings) from extinguishing it completely. His pleas so genuine in their urgency, the ungraceful manor in which he practically begged for the sake of his own. No self respecting ruler allowed himself to act thus and that is precisely why it itched inside of Thranduil's mind. In his dealings with any folk, kin or otherwise, he held his people's well being in the forefront of his mind in each agreement he signed his name to. However, it had always been with the distancing of himself from displaying anything less than a strict, cool, pride. He held the honor of his people in his image and could not allow himself to falter in that.  
If he were honest with himself, as often the case in the dead of night and sleep elusive in its promise of solitude and peace, it was not merely for the sake of keeping face. Much blood had been spilled in his life. That of his grandfather, his father, his wife, his kin all drained from them years ago and in the wake of the pain, threatened to tear him down into despair and death. It left a dull pain in his very being, and a hardening of his manor to any and all. Including his own son. He turned his head away and led his elk toward the opening of Dale where he could await Bard's return. Perhaps his diplomacy had worked after all.  
_____  
Bard's anger was only matched in his confusion. Keeping one's word was taken seriously in Laketown. With all the Master's spies about, with every glance being passed over a shoulder, trust was precious as food and drink. A breech of one's word could earn shame and isolation amongst the tight community. The people were honest however. Always keeping each other from harm as best as they could. An unspoken love and trust filled all those who dwelled above the water. A bind that came from shared misery and strengthened integrity. And all over a fortune so fast that it had called a dragon to it? Did this king's madness no know bounds? Did all honor cease in face of the gleam and glitter of the yellow metal, or did it at least take a week before the insanity clung to his mind? It did not matter. Thorin refused to keep his promise. Refusing his people the much needed aid that his kind once sought. Bard's own people had suffered in that great desolation sixty years ago. They too had been run from their homes. All trade had ceased in fear of the dragon that had wrought such a fate and claimed the mountain as his own kingdom. They survived. They had built their town on the lake and the Dwarves with whom they'd formed such a strong relationship with, scattered to the winds. Remarkable how it all came down to gold. Another thought occurred to Bard as he traveled back down the mountain. He hoped he would get the chance to ask it.  
He heard the clop of the horse's hooves on the stone and dirt, saw the white travel down the path as Bard traveled downward. “He will not help us.”

This time Thranduil allowed himself a knowing smirk in response. “Still you tried.”

  
Bard looked back toward the mountain before letting out a defeated and confused, “why?” Always the question was it not? Thranduil knew why. The Dwarves in their never ending thirst of gold, a thirst that drove them to ruin, their kings to madness were never the most logical creatures. Rational discussion had proven futile in the past and proved so now. The stubbornness of Dwarves would never be questioned, nor would their lack of foresight, by the king of the wooden realm.

  
“Who knows the reason behind their actions. There is only one thing that they understand.” The glimmer of silver in the air, the weight of metal in his palm thrilled the Elven king as he drew the blade to keep linear with his gaze of the mountain which he would soon attack. Thorin would not bargain? Would not give what was rightfully owed to his people? And while he pushed the sentimentality away, he could hear the murmurs of his conscious in his mind for the people of Laketown as well. Bard wanted so little by comparison to what his own were deserving in Thranduil's opinion. Only enough to rebuild their town once more. Enough to get the poor babes with their dirty, hungry faces out from the frigid air and back into proper housing. Enough to give them more than just a few months provisions which he had provided. Really Thorin, was keeping your word that much of a hardship with your city of gold under your feet? Still, they were mortal Thranduil told himself as his sword slide back into his sheath with nary a sound. Mortals suffered, mortals died, it was never ending. Still, being side by side with Bard as they rode back into Dale, perhaps...perhaps would occupy his mind more and more as he dealt with these mortals.

  
“Come Dragon Slayer, we've much to discuss before the day is out since war now is inevitable.”  
____

  
Even the fabric of Thranduil's tent gave Bard pause in its lavish design and texture. While Bard never considered himself lesser, nor above, another, there was discomfort in the face of Thranduil's wealth and ease of authority. His back stood a bit straighter and his chin raised a bit higher as he was led into its body. He stood in the middle where a tiny round table stood with a bottle of wine and a few chalices on its polished surface. And towards the back, a decorative seat with a high back and cushion. A makeshift throne to which Thranduil slipped passed him to sit in. Even in a war camp their king needed finery and a clear show of power.

  
“We've yet to be introduced properly.” Thranduil said, “And given the nature of the situation I felt it was an error in need of rectifying. Please, sit.” He swept his hand wide to the entire interior in welcome.  
Little static charges twitched his hands as he hastened to take the hospitality offered and selected a seat towards the back flap but to the left of the “throne” so that he might be able to view the Elf and yet keep his eye on the “door” so that he would be able to see anyone come in. Quiet, busy noise of chatter and work bustled on outside in the fading light. Quips of Elvish and common tongue twittering around in a mess that Bard couldn't hope to untangle fluttered in and it gave him a bit of warmth to know the Elves had come. And by the sound of it were getting along with his people if the musical and gruff laughter that shook the air suddenly was an indication.

  
After making due in his seat, he leaned his body and turned to face the king who had turned only his upper body and head towards him, “Bard.” How did one start a conversation like this one? Formal, quiet, and almost at peace despite the turmoil raised around them. Firstly, he did not want to be called by a title alone. Alfred had perpetuated it, the git, when he was trying to save his own neck. Hoping to endear himself to his sympathetic nature. Louse couldn't even stay awake to keep an eye on a few hundred Elven soldiers marching up the mountain side.

  
“I've heard. I knew of you before when you used to collect my barrels. It was told to me through scouts I would send to watch you and on the trade papers between my kingdom and your's. I had ensured to know all who would be doing dealings in my land, if only by name. I've heard a great deal of things of late though Dragon Slayer. Perhaps you could lift the mystery around them.” Thranduil lifted one long leg up to prop itself on the other, and tilted his body, clear that he was intent on listening and on being comfortable whilst doing so. Odd, Bard thought as he watched the other, how almost beautiful Thranduil was on his throne, attentive.

  
He bit his lip for a moment and coughed into his hands to clear his unwanted observation from his mind. He had enough to worry and think on without having strange observations about his ally come to his consciousness. His legs were fairly strong and lithe though through his pants. Clearing his throat again Bard spoke,  
“Whatever you wish to know will be answered as long as you give me the same consideration my Lord Thranduil.” he lifted his hand palm side up and waved it towards Thranduil for emphasis before placing it back into his lap.

  
Thranduil tilted his head at Bard's words, weighing them in his mind a he regarded the human. He looked tired. His keen eyes saw the crinkles under his eyes, the wrinkles in the skin where worried brows pushed together. His hair was matted with grime, the man clearly hadn't bathed in a while unless being tossed into the lake during a dragon attack counted. With the stench of blood and smoke around, the Elves were over whelmed to the point of no long smelling it all.

  
“Indeed. You shall have it.” Rising from his seat, the wood much more firm against his rear than his one at home, he went to the bottle on the table. “I should like to ask you about the dragon.” He poured the wine into one, and then two, chalices and turned, “I am curious as to how you managed to fell the beast.” The weight of the metal cup in his hand felt heavy as he caught a mild scrunch of Bard's face, and then the feeling disappeared when Bard reached up and took the cup offered.

  
“How _I_ managed to kill the beast?” Bard raised his eyebrow and looked down with a mirthless chuckle. He lifted his head to look at those unwrinkled, untroubled, piercing eyes. “I assume that your surprise doesn't come from the person who felled a dragon but rather that a dragon was felled at all?”

  
A smirk and mild tilt of his head proceeded Thranduil's, “Of course.”

  
Bard had to resist his own smirk before taking a sip of his wine and continued with the story. He found, as the events flashed in his mind and the words tumbled out, a tremor in his hand. His voice took a strangled note when he reached the end where he had to use his son's shoulder.

  
“Your son is a brave young man. So trusting of his father as well.”

  
“Aye, that he is.” Bard's heart swelled at the praise for his son, “thank you.” he added. His wine sat content in his cup for the better part of the story, now he tilted the sweetened, strong liquid into his mouth in one gulp after completing it. Not especially a drinker, the wine burned his throat as it traveled down. Yet he found himself unable to care because now he felt more soothed than he had in the last day or so. Despite the looming dread of war on their heads, he managed to get out some of that tension by telling Thranduil the full story.

  
The elven king was a rapt audience, held onto his words like a babe to a mother's voice. Not once did he interrupt, not once did he make a sound. The only indication of reaction were those silvery eyebrows rising, falling, creasing together at pinnacle moments. He did not judge the flourishes that Bard put in either when he described the scents, the sounds, his concerns, the pain. Though Bard, unsure of how formal he should behave, kept the story as close to the facts as possible. That, and even remembering the near death he and his children had forced him to cringe.  
An ache in his fingers developed as he held the now empty cup firm and the two sat for a moment in silence.

  
“Your people are fortunate to have such brave individuals to stand for them.” Thranduil offered before rising from his seat once more and reached his hand out to collect his cup. Handing it over, Bard pondered on the concept that the king served himself and a guest rather than using one of his many servants to do so for him. Delicate, foolish to think so given his Elven blood, skin brushed against his rough fingers as the king took his cup from him and the thought disappeared in the wake of the mild tingle left behind.

  
“Thank you. Both for the praise and for the attention you gave.”

  
Thranduil tipped the pitcher and refilled his and Bard's cup, presenting the wine once more to the bargeman. “Think nothing of it. As always you draw to conclusions beyond my intent. I merely was curious as to how the dragon was killed and gave according truth to the story teller in my statements afterward.” He turned back to his throne and Bard sucked in his lips tight at whether to take Thranduil's words as cold or merely Elvish. Did he mean to insult in his blunt tone or was that simply his way? In either case, Bard could not help think that the Elf Lord held more warmth in him than he allowed. The situation at hand certainly wouldn't allow for his guard to be down, or even overt friendly behavior. Not to mention his quest, in Bard's humble opinion, was utterly foolish. His kindness, over shadowed by blunt words and straight backed stature, left Bard at a loss as to read him.

  
Bard chose to smile, “and the wine is merely a customary token, along with all of the supplies given before?” That gave pause to Thranduil's sip, cup poised on the edge of his lips. “I have a question of my own.”  
Reaffirming himself with a minute shift and bringing the cup to his mouth, he gestured with the other hand for Bard to continue.

  
Taking his time, the bargeman took a breath outward, chest lifted with air, fist clenching around the cup to the point of reddening his hands in strain before he looked the Elf in the eyes and asked, “Why did you not help either the Dwarves or the people of Dale those years ago?”

  
The widening of Thranduil's eyes, the slight drop in his jaw would be humorous if not for the circumstances. He lowered his cup slowly to rest his hand on the arm of his throne.

  
“You are bold bargeman,” the ice dripped from bargeman.

  
“A moment ago it was Bard and before that Dragon Slayer. Cannot fathom that I managed to upsurpt the great Thranduil with an innocent enough question.” He kept his voice measured, but he quirked his eyebrow and kept his eyes locked with Thranduil's. He would not falter in his presence, he would meet Thranduil as an equal.

  
The light, clipped, nearly silent sound brought Bard's jaw down and bobbed his throat as he swallowed. Thranduil laughter did not lost long, but it gave rise to concern. From the neutral stance Thranduil's face often took, the calm (if rage-full) melody of his voice, the regality of his very eyebrows, Bard was hard pressed not to be concerned about a sudden shift in his demeanor.

  
“My, you are brave.” One long leg crossed over the other, “I respect that. Not many would risk speaking to me in such a fashion Bard.”

  
Bard felt relief flood his body, tension drained from his shoulders, “It would do you well to have it happen more often in that case.” The small, eye crinkling smile offered in reply caused a radiance of warmth to penetrate Bard's being. A genuine, warm smile on Thranduil's full lips. Again he shook his head at the intrusive thoughts that threatened his mind and leaned back in his chair, spreading open his legs to get more comfortable.

  
“Indeed?” The merriment lasted one moment more before Thranduil's eyes downcast themselves and his words came from his mouth as if they had to be pulled, “I trust that this will be in your confidence. That what we speak of shall not leave this tent.”

  
“Of course.” Bard nodded, eager for a continuation. It was a fair question, and deserved an answer. To establish trust between them, he felt he needed to understand Thranduil's reasonings. As well as his loyalty, his empathy. His own people had to scavenge and struggle to go from Dale to the town on the lake, and they did it. They succeeded, if not having it squalor down to starvation and a gold hungry tyrant. But they had survived and only after the town had been built, when trees had to be cut from the edges of the Mirkwood, did the elves even express a passing interest in what happened to them, and through discussions between diplomats, a small but steady trading system began between the two kinds. In fact, most of Laketown's continued survival depended on the trade for money and goods supplied by Mirkwood's continued interest in their wines and fish.

  
Red liquid swirled about the flute of the chalice, Thranduil's eyes fixed at a point on the floor before he turned back to Bard and said, “My first priority in life is my people Bard. As I am certain you have already come to discover, it is a king's job to make it so. In that respect, I have kept their well being in all my choices. If that requires isolation from the outside world for a time, then so be it.” He put his cup to his lips and took a sip, “you also have to understand the animosity between my people and the Dwarves is a deep seeded one spanning over the centuries for various reasons. In the case of my people, there has been numerous insults to our very person-hood. One of them being the refusal to return the “handful of gems” to us after they demanded a ridiculous price for setting them into a necklace for us.” Thranduil closed his eyes and touched his fingers to his forehead, “the story is long and I wish not to dwell on it but the price they demanded, their refusal to return our gems after we refused, it cut our being. One of the gravest insults equal to the rarity, the beauty, and symbolic meaning of those gems to my people, to my very family.” Thranduil's hand came to his lap with a audible thump against the luscious fabric and his harsh eyes opened once more. “To one outside of it all, one who seems to appreciate treasure least of all, I am certain the concept is hard to grasp.” His eyes softened and he continued, “Now is the best time to retrieve what was stolen from us all those years ago. The dragon is dead, Oakenshield is now claiming kingship over the mountain while being severely outnumbered. For your kin, the opportunity cannot be missed. With my forces behind you, you shall be able to receive what you are owed. What you had been promised. As allies in this, when this mild annoyance is dealt with, we can work together to rebuild Dale and Laketown. Bring trade back into the area, strengthen the wealth and longevity of your kingdom as well as my own for we will be a united force. Able to rely on each other in case of difficult times.” His voice took on a dark tone and he fell silent.

  
“You speak as though those difficult times have fallen upon you and you wish to have support to fall back on.” Bard said, “I understand needing an ally. We need you and will be more than grateful enough to repay you as we can.” Bard stood up and walked his cup to the little table, standing directly in front the beautiful king, “You are right, I care little for treasures, even ones that have symbolic meaning. I understand being cheated, being disrespected, and wanting to protect those you care for.” Feet inched forward and warmth spread though Bard's body, “I may not see fighting for jewels as significant, but without your help my people as sick and broken as they are, would rail against the mountain with hooks and fists and the gates would stay closed to us. Our pleas for mercy falling on deaf, greedy ears.” In his heart Bard understood, a little, Thorin's own deliema. His promise being delivered in the need to make it to the mountain, to escape bondage, to reclaim his birthright. Still, to all those faces, those burnt, bleeding bodies, the corpses floating in the water, smoke still smoldering in the remaining wood and a dragon's body in its grave at the bottom of the lake, Bard knew his cause was just. If it took battling the prides of an Elven King against a Dwarvish one to get what was promised, what was earned after they had woken the beast that might have slept on forever, for his people Bard would gladly welcome an alliance between his people and the Mirkwood.

  
“You still have yet to answer why you did not help us. Did we earn the wrath of the Elves in those days as well?”

  
“To be honest, you were a burden I did not wish to lay on my people. So many of you, always and forever in need and yet always rising above. It has always been this way. Your people suffer daily until their dying breath and still manage to survive long enough to rebuild from devastation. As strong as my people are, as capable, as magical, we have our own limits and at that time, I did not wish to test them.” Thranduil felt the cool surface of his cup in his hand, the motion of the liquid inside as he swirled it, his toes clenching and unclenching in their boots (a habit he'd picked up from centuries of needing to hide his frustrations and anxieties) as he rushed through his answer. “It is a regret I have hoped to, in a small way, rectify with you now.”

  
The air around them buzzed with sounds and scents as the felt time slow between them and all became a hum of indescribable energy. It took Bard time to work his slug like tongue, suddenly so dry and heavy,  
“You will. You have already begun and on behalf of all of us, thank you Thranduil. From me, thank you for the trust you have given me in telling me the truth.” Why did his lips ache and tingle? Why did he have the urge to wrap his arms around the other like he would with any one of his friends and assure the creature that his efforts were noticed, that he could, and was, able to make amends. Perhaps not with the Dwarves, but at least with his people.

  
Thranduil replied, “I suspected you would have been more angry with me for my blunt words.”

  
Bard sighed and went back to his chair “Aye, maybe a bit of me wishes things had been different. That you had considered us more worthy of being a burden.” he sat down with a silent omph, “but, that was then and we are here now. I am not my ancestor, and you are not the same Elf as you were before in respect to being here for us.”

  
“I want to tell you now that mortal lives, individuals or otherwise, pass so fast before our eyes that we forget you. We never die, should never die, where as you do. Always. You always die. Be it now or later, and always so young in our eyes. I will be as honest as I have been Dragon Slayer that I admit I have difficulty finding value in caring for your kind and this alliance will not be without its own difficulty. We come from different views and I wish to prepare you in the way I had little chance to be when I had taken over rule. Raised as a prince during war times, and then finding rule in my lap so suddenly after the deaths of my grandfather and father and mother, I had to learn quickly as you will have to do. I tell you all of this to make you understand the difficulty it will be to work together as I am not the only Elf to feel this way of your people. And your kin have similar distasteful views of my kin despite the mild mingling of labor outside with your people starved for need to be useful and occupy their minds, and mine too dutiful in their tasks to rebuke them. Diplomacy, patience, and yet stern conviction will be needed on your part to lead your own and deal with mine. I hope that you will be up to the task. Especially since I offer you and what remains of your people after tomorrow to return with my kin to live in my realm as the rebuilding of Laketown carries through the winter.”  
Had he not put his cup down, it would have toppled to the floor.

______  
The battle had been harsh. He thought he knew the outcome would be swift with little to no bloodshed. Instead an all out free for all that risk the safety of his children, killed so many of the survivors that the already dwindled number of Laketown's populous had been dropped even harsher. Though, a small part of him smiled at the memory of both Alfred fleeing and the women coming to their aid. So strong and able, it was a mistake to have not taken them alongside the men as they did a spectacular job of rescuing them and only lost five. His people, so brave. They didn't deserve the pain, the death. But he was not alone in this, Bard had to find Thranduil, he had to travel along the blood slicked grass, power through the vile stench of corpses, and try not to trip on the broken weapons as he traveled along the grounds. The war was won, the goblins and Orcs had been defeated. Though that would not have happened had the elves and Dwarves put aside their differences to fight alongside one another, and had not the eagles came at the last minute to swoop many of the foul vermin into the sky to have them plummet to their deaths.  
Bard made sure that his children were safe with Alice. She helped him hide the guards in Laketown and, from what he understood when he ran into a number of the women on the battlefield, was the one to rouse them into action in the first place. How fortunate that she had been one of the lucky survivors and one of the best people to ensure the safety of his children as he sought to find Thranduil. In the heat of battle they had lost sight of one another and he, at one point, thought foolishly that he saw Thranduil retreating in the city. But that could not be, not after their agreement, after they blackmailed Thorin, after all the death, the promises. He wouldn't abandon them again surely.  
It took some time, and when the Elven king made his appearance, his eyes were reddened and bleak, his face slack and blood stained. His body moved in a sluggish glide as he side stepped the chaos spread across the grounds (he kept his eyes as upward as he could, avoiding the sight of the golden armor of his people strewn amongst filth and enemies) to the gates of Dale where Azog had commanded an attack to scatter their defenses and destroy as many as he could. He lost Legolas, Tauriel was torn in her grief, many of his guard were dead, as well as his beloved Elk, and all of it was his own doing. Of course there were reasons, and had he not been there both the Dwarves and humans surely would be dead, but he had almost retreated, put himself and his kin above their own as he had warned Bard he would do. The end of Tauriel's arrow in his face, then later the tears running down her's, and his son needing to leave the grief before he could allow to swallow him and time to sooth the anger against his father, all of it burned in Thranduil's heart. All of it, regardless of reasons, was his fault. And the ragged bargeman eagerly running towards him, hands relieved of weapons and clothing tattered and blood stained, added to the weight to his conscious.

  
“Thank goodness you're alive. I had been searching for you. We have many of your folk here. They've been assisting in healing the wounded. Are you wounded my Lord? You are looking worn thin.”

  
Thranduil's head tilted down, his blue eyes meeting those of the bargemen, the dragon-slayer, the handsome, exhausted human he nearly left alone on the field to fend for himself (as well as jeopardizing the lake people) even with prioritizing his own, those eyes with all their concern, their wrinkled skin, his relieved smile, all stabbed into his mind in a confused, frustrated flood of emotion.

  
“Pay my well being no mind Bard, do you fair well?”

  
“Little bruised, cut up a bit, but I'm alright.” He glanced behind at the city, and then back out over the expanse of hill, “I suspect I will have to be when the clean up begins.” Shoulders rose and fell with the sigh and he rubbed the back of his neck. “We should get inside, let your folk know you're well.”

  
“Agreed.”

  
Dwarves, Elves, Men, a Wizard, and a Halfling (or Hobbit as he made clear he preferred)entered the mountain with the blessings of the new king under the mountain (finally back to his senses). The massive underground city had surprisingly done well despite the siege by a dragon and years of neglect. It was dusty, and broken pillars scattered debris along the floor, and if one were to travel about they might just happen upon a dead Dwarf or two in cobweb coated armor. The halls, so vast, so gloriously vast to near impossible.  
Intricate, sculpted and chiseled, pillars, walk ways, door frames, and the glitter of gold and gems casting a glimmer around the indoor city in the many now lit torches. All would share in a portion of the wealth, as originally promised. Hard to believe just yesterday they all were in the muck.  
With the supplies both Dane and Thranduil's armies brought, along with Thranduil sending his swiftest hunters to bring game to the table, and what little the Lake people managed to fish from the water, a meager feast was manageable for all to share in. Smaug's fires, still burning in the bowls of the forges, offered a vast warmth and the ability to light torches and pits with which to roast meat.  
_____  
It had taken four days of diligent, and near silent, work for all the peoples to clean at least a portion of the land of corpses and mound them into burning piles or into burial trenches. The reward of meats and wine were enough a promise to hasten their hands and warrant cooperation with one another.

  
Bard had kept his, and the remaining few, children in the Elvish camps along with the sick and injured. They'd been through enough and their young bodies and minds needed rest. At least enough to spare them the task of carting familiar faces. Let them have that small mercy upon their tattered innocence. Even if Bain and Singrid were indignant at the mere suggestion, taking it as an attack upon their maturity and strength. Only when Bard emphasized the importance of caring for those who could not care for themselves, how they were strong for doing such a task, let the older and physically larger ones handle the wheelbarrows of limbs, scour the wreckage, and their sister needed them both, did they relent to their father's wishes to keep the young and weak tended and out of the way.  
The other three kings, as Bard noted on the third day while straining his back tugging a fat orc, kept themselves lock away in Erebor with Gandalf. Talking. A flicker of an unidentifiable, unpleasant, emotion, passed through Bard as he watched all the others dirty themselves, his own hands stained in old blood and dirt, grimy with sweat, while the royalty talked. Could that not wait? Were they better than those whom they ruled over? Perhaps Bard hadn't been a king long enough to feel more significant than the poor bargeman he'd grown to be, but talking could wait.

Day four mild conversations struck up here and there amongst the mixed survivors. The promise of a proper feast being the main topic. They'd been gnawing on rations and sleeping away the pain up to that point and seeing large fowl and baskets of fish, along with a few barrels of wine travel up to the interior of Erebor made their mouths water. The scent of cooking combated the putrid stench of death in the air, offering comfort.

  
Now they were inside the halls, sitting upon plush pillows and whatever blankets could be tossed down to cover the golden floor. Speckles flickers along the walls up to the ceiling where Smaug has burst forth. It was chaotic, almost artistic. At first barely a mutter of polite diplomacy made it past anyone's lips as they all tucked into the spread before them, yet as the evening wore on, those lips loosened and moods lightened.

  
Bard sat at the makeshift front with Thranduil on his left, Bilbo on his right, Thorin and Dane further on the right more with their kin, his children were further down amongst the people who had been carried up from Dale so that they could enjoy the feast, along with Elves who were attempting to keep themselves closer to their own and the humans. Of course the cooperation of their peoples were necessary, of course they'd worked together before despite the discomfort and near silence, but just by once overing the room Bard knew what Thranduil had said would not only apply to his and Thranduil's people, but with all the peoples. It would take time.

  
For Bard's part, he tried to eat as calmly as he could despite the ache in his belly. Thranduil, even using his fingers achieved a casual, effortless efficiency and elegance in each slow movement.  
Bard tried to keep his eyes on his own plate but they managed to wander to his left several times. How could someone be charming when they were pulling apart fish and pushing the pieces into their mouths with their fingers? Was it the way in which Thranduil's lips would wrap around the digits, careful to engulf the tips and suck the meat gently into his mouth?

  
“We should discuss the movement of your people into my kingdom. There are not many of you and my people will be accommodating. A few have volunteered space in their homes as it is. We have guest chambers, and room in our healing halls.” Thranduil took a sip of his wine, “The move should happen soon.” Thranduil noted the mildly guilty expression on Bard's face as the bargeman looked away to his plate, and kept his smirk internal.

  
“Aye, perhaps tomorrow? They've been left out in the cold long enough. Tents and ruins can only offer so much.”

  
“Agreed, though they are a strong people. They dealt with it thus far, a number even going so far as to cast aside their crutches to assist in the clean up.”

  
Bard swelled in pride, “Aye, they are strong and capable.” He could not resist turning himself towards Thranduil and keeping his tone tactfully playful, “I noticed you were not out there with the rest of us.”

  
“Indeed, I had important matters to discuss.”

  
“Always talking aren't you royalty?”

  
“You are among our ranks Bard, I would remind you.”

  
“True as that may be, I still preferred to carrying my weight with the others these past few days.”

  
Those pale blue, immortal eyes, onced him over and paused when they reached his hands before coming back to his face, “Judging by the state of your hands, I would say you had done more than your fair share.”

  
Bard laughed, “I'm just an honest laborer who feels talking can wait until the rest is managed.”

  
“A king delegates rather than participates.” Thranduil's answer came smoothly, an undercurrent of amusement in the corners of his eyes and the twitch of his lips.

  
“Is that so? Or are you merely using a convenient excuse to avoid breaking a nail or mussing your pretty hair?” Where had that come from? Bard had hardly a glass of wine since arriving given his own pallet favored ails and beers over the fruitier drink, so there had been no reason for his comment aside from his own sarcasm and boldness.  
Though short, Thranduil's laughter in all its mellow timber both caught Bard off guard and eased him at once. Yes, they certainly could become great allies, and friends. If only he could cease the intangible sensations of joy, and...attraction when looking upon him, hearing him speak, seeing his ease of authority, and anything that made Thranduil an impressive and powerful individual. After the death of his wife, Bard had to be strong, continue on with his children, his work, his life alone. He'd grown accustomed to being alone.

  
Thranduil too had to stamp these feelings rousing themselves in such a short time. The human was brave, bold, compassionate, things that Thranduil both strove to be and admired in others. And out on the battlefield he nearly shamed himself, his kin when he almost recoiled, slunk back into the depths of Mirkwood for safety while others died en mass. Bard also had the benefit of a rather appealing face and body. Facial hair not withstanding, the mortal's roughened skin, dark wavy tresses, and muscled body added an almost exotic, charming pull. Couple this roughened yet handsome appearance with a personality of pure starlight and Thranduil's heart yearned. It had been such a long time, since Legolas's mother, that he had a glimmer of emotion close to attraction and affection.

______  
Mirkwood, in its splendor, cast upon the mortals an enchantment. Its dappled sunlight and massive roots able to support an entire city and be the roads to take them through it were all magical yet so comfortably natural. This kingdom offered a wonderment that was rarely, if ever, beheld by outsiders. Bard was ever grateful for the opportunity to house in such a place during the winter. The delight in his children's eyes were enough reassurance that this had been the correct decision. It was beautiful and it was warm. When Bard was a child, his mother used to fill the gaps in with rags to keep the cold at bay and as a father, Bard had done the same for his own children. Here, no drafts to seep through them down to the bones.

  
Leading the way for his people, his movements of secure (but not arrogant) confidence were echoed in those who followed him. Alice being one of those who kept her chin up the most.  
The neutral expressions upon the faces of their hosts and guides as they traveled to meet the king did little to alliveate the sense of intrusion they all felt. They were interlopers, burdens, and they stepped into a kindgom that kept its doors firmly shut. Yet, whey should they feel ashamed? There was no shame in receiving help, yet it would take getting used to when it came to the long term aid they'd need to get back on their feet. They survived on helping each other, and now were reliant upon the kindness of these ageless beings whom, until recently, kept very much to themselves and were practically strangers that even a battle, four near silent nights of brunt work, and a feast were not going to cure. Though, if one paid attention, there was warmth in those eyes, subtle welcomes in near invisible, Elf-like smiles. As the past few days had proven, they were all flesh and blood.

  
The throne stood against the backdrop his earthy, wooden, kingdom on high and in a vast, spacious void, framed by the tangled roots and what Bard could only assume were antlers. Massive like the ones upon the Elk Thranduil had ridden since first they met. However, Thranduil was not upon his throne to receive his guests, but rather on the landing just below, hands neatly tucked in front of him.  
“My lord Thranduil.” Bard approached, extending his hand, a warm smile crinkled the skin around his eyes as Thranduil (reluctantly given Elven custom required very little touching) took it and allowed Bard the firm shake up and down, once.

  
“My Lord Bard,” he responded in kind with a more Elven tip of his head in affirmation.

  
Bard gave a squeeze to his hand, “Thank you,” before he released it and turned round to address those nearest that had come to welcome him and his kin, “thank all of you for your generosity. Without your kindness, surely the war and winter would have claimed us all. I know it must be difficult to have us here, to assist us in the rebuilding of our home and to house us while we do so, words fall short of the monuments gift you give us in and in time we hope to repay you for all that you've done not just with our goods and gold, but with an everlasting friendship between our kinds.” The applause after from the Elves, the hoots and hollers of agreement from his own, caused Bard to pause in surprise, eyebrows arching high before he quickly turned to face the other king, who gave him a mild shrug as if to say he would get used to it.

  
“Now, I believe we should get your people settled.” With little more than a few word in Elvish, the Elves that had come to welcome them began scurrying about collecting a few of the people to them, sorting them into different groups based on how many there were, if they were injured or sick, and so on.

  
“Your family will stay in the halls closest to my chambers.” Thranduil said as the Bardlings (as he had come to call him in his mind) were shuttled away with reassurance that they would be near their father.  
“That is much too kind. Would we not be nuisance being so near to you?” An image of a causal, relaxed Thranduil stepping out of his chambers after a night's sleep, tousle haired and drowsy, still in his night clothes (probably as stunning and decorative as the rest of his wardrobe) came to Bard's mind and he had to keep from reacting to the image by forcing a cough. Who would ever be able to the great king Thranduil in such a mundane light?

  
Thranduil gestured with his hand for Bard to walk alongside him as his great strides began carrying him off the landing and down the path that would eventually come to a left turn towards his own chambers and that where Bard and his children would reside“If you were, why would I have made it so? Besides, it is a custom to give visiting kings and queens royal guest rooms while they stay.” Thranduil glanced at the human walking alongside him and was somewhat pleased that he was a bit smaller than him, Bard would be easier to hold if he were smaller. While Thranduil attempted to keep such observations, hopes, and ideas at bay, he found that in Bard's presence they were much more difficult to keep locked up. Thank goodness for centuries worth of practice to keep his heart rate normal, his face unperturbed. If only he knew that similar concepts were in the mind of his companion.


	2. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their feelings grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I suck. This was originally for the Barduil Big Bang MONTHS back. Due to NUMEROUS issues, lethargic tendencies, and such, I've been tinkering on and off with this fic to try and eventually post it. Then I felt like shit for not posting, and so on. So, here it is...an update! Never ever doing a large big bang ever ever again. I suck at the deadlines.

The people of the lake found the warmth and comfort they hadn't experienced even when they had a roof over their heads. Despite the strange tongues, their feelings of uselessness with having nothing to do inside the Elvish kingdom, Bard often reminded them through his courteous action that they were guests, and should be grateful for it. Thranduil also led through example by accepting the human's politeness, by showing great patience if dealing with any of the humans that came across his path (though that was not an often occurrence). With the Elves already firmly established in their daily lives, they found it occasionally strange, difficult, to navigate over the  humans that now added to their populous. Tensions stemming from the cultivated suspicious nature of the humans and the age wrought arrogance of the Elves, kept all on their toes for fear of offense or biting their tongue from retaliating if faced with one. They all did their best and for that, _both_ kings were grateful.

What never carried any tension however, was how quickly the children grew on the ancient beings. _So_ many babes, young ones, had been left alone through the onslaught, and with not enough lake town members to take care of them all, a few of the Elves offered their homes to the orphans. Children were so rare in the Elven kingdoms, so precious to them that even when Legolas was a child he was fussed and cooed over by many. Bard and Thranduil had overheard such an offer at their table one evening. A guard of Mirkwood's army by name of Linwe in particular, sat at one of the higher tables reserved for solders close to the royals. Often Legolas would sit at those tables. Thranduil mentioned it to Bard when his children took up chairs near their father at the highest table. Legolas preferred to be amongst his friends as opposed to above them.

Linwe, with his eager eyes for one as supposedly old as the next elf, had invited one of the young lads, Godfrey, to sit next to him at the dining table (the other solders gladly accepting the young one's presence).

"I've grown quite fond of you." They could hear him say. Mostly Thranduil with his keen hearing and recanting to the mortal next to him. "Godfrey, should you find yourself needing a home, you could always choose to stay in Mirkwood if you'd like."

"Stay with you?" His young voice pitched with a curious note.

"Of course. I would be very much accepting of you into my home." Linwe's hopefulness evident but non-pressuring.

"I had a father." His voice weakened for a moment of grief. A quiet, non-assuming reminder as he looked down at his place. Tiny hands fiddling with each other on his lap.

"I would _never_ presume to take the place of your father Godfrey. _But_ you can't live on your own and I would be grateful for your company." He tilted his head to catch the other's eyes and smiled.

"I...I guess. I mean, I still don't like vegetables and I don't want to play the harp, but I kind of like hanging out with you too." Linwe laughed and patted a hand on the young boys back and Godfrey lifted his head with a missing toothed smile.

"We can discuss the vegetables and instruments later."

That had been a good evening. In the first few weeks after the desolation all was in a strangled silence. Coupled with cultural differences in speech, dress, etc. the transition had been rocky. Thranduil insisted to Bard that the people be kept inside during the long winter, at least until they were all fully healed and the seeming high tension was ebbing away with little things like that.

"Does the heart good to know that many of the children will be with a family again." Bard said, taking a bite of the deer that he'd hunted earlier amongst other hunters that morning. "With all the chaos of the past month, the people seem to have settled. The most I've heard from them is the minor complaint of over hospitality."

Thranduil swallowed his mouthful of bread before replying, "Are we perhaps being _too_ kind for your tastes?" his tone light and dry with its tease, "we could certainly strive for more harsher conditions if that would suite them?"

At the small grin on the Elven king's face Bard allowed himself a chuckle, "its not that. Warm food in the belly, wine, medicine, a place to rest, all of it is truly appreciated. It's the sense of being a stranger in a strange land, of having little to nothing to do, they are restless. Perhaps still the customs of your people are _odd_. Your manner in which you conduct yourselves, ancient and graceful, can perhaps intimidate some of the others. Particularly our elders who seem to be in a sore spot since they are being treated like children, at least according to one of my own."

Thranduil nodded his understanding and ripped another piece of bread from the serving on his plate and chose to keep his reply neutral, "It shouldn't be too much longer before it is safe to go outside." The snow had covered the land in thick blankets of white and the winds had bitten terribly as they ghosted over the surface. The lake was a complete sheet of ice, no chance of getting the needed lumber and supplies needed to begin rebuilding. It was of little concern to the Elven king. He'd grown quickly accustomed to the other man's presence in his halls. When first arriving, Thranduil found it strangely endearing how Bard felt, for lack of a better term, _shy._ Overly courteous, "My Lord" before his name especially in front of their people, the mild discomfort in Bard stopping him in the hall to ask how the tap in the bathroom worked on his second night in the Mirkwood halls.

_"Do you not know how running water works?" Thranduil replied to the awkward request with a tilt to the head, leading the way to his guest's chamber adjacent to his._

_"I've gathered one tap is hot, the other cold, but I can't get the spicket at the top on and with all of 'this'," he gestured to his still dirty skin from all the prior work, "I need more than a pitcher and rag." he smiled bashfully,  "Our sinks are merely a pump of cold water, our baths are water hauled and heated in the tub or simply dipping into the lake."_ _Bard replied falling behind attempting to keep his chin up despite his embarrassment after realizing how simple it must be and remembering how cleanly the Elves were._

_"Do not concern yourself Bard." Thranduil answered as he went to the bathroom and showed the man how one tap meant hot, one meant cold, and the third (the one that had confused him) was the one that turned the shower head on. Thranduil grinned to himself that Bard had asked 'him' as opposed to the few servants that came down to tend the rooms. When he mentioned it, Bard laughed._

_"Better to embarrass myself in front of a familiar face rather than someone new. Can't have everyone knowing what an idiot I am." Bard smiled, laughter etched into the lines near his mouth, eyes alight as he looked at Thranduil, who smiled back.  
 _

_"I am glad that you don't feel the need to hold yourself to a higher standard around me. At least in private."_

_"Nay, I've found you to be agreeable company enough outside of battle and negotiation to be at ease. Besides, when I first met you, I stood my ground, treated you as an equal. You've done the same for me. What's a little embarrassment between friends?"_

That had been some time ago. Now, Bard still wore his dirty tunic to bed, but he and his children had full understanding of the shower and were _much_ cleaner than those earlier days. In addition, he was wearing nicer clothes. Certainly he kept the coat he'd grown so comfortable in, the coat he'd slayed Smaug in, but the Dwarves had given the people of the lake supplies, money, promises of reparation upon the rebuilding, after the battle of five armies. Clothes had been given in bulk to the ragged crew. Fine furs, thick fabrics, all for their taking. Which suited them fine (and if Bard had heard mutters from his kin that they preferred Dwarfish fashion above Elvish, he would keep that to himself). Bard gotten himself a decent amount of shirts, browns and off-white mainly, basic little tunic things to wear under his coat. For trousers he had to rely on the Elvish tailors for that and have to make sure to ask they didn't make them as _snug_ as they made their own. His children though found they could fit, at least Tilda and Bain. Singrid had to add fabric to the length of a skirt to make them more presentable, but for the most part, the Dwarves had wide frames, and enjoyed loser fitting garments, making it easier for men and women to fit into things. Whatever they couldn't fit, Elves were happy to supply. Thranduil had also insisted that, at the very least, Bard and his Bardlings get their clothing washed, mended, and added elegance befitting royalty.

_"There's no need for that." Bard had answered and felt a sense of fondness for the brushed off gesture Thranduil gave him._

_"Nonsense. I am quite fond of your children Bard and I would like to see them in something lovely. All that we are going to do is brighten the colors and add some decorative stitches." Thranduil reasoned back in the first few weeks of December when the humans had been there for a few weeks. He fingered through the clothes that the Dwarves had given his fellow king and his children. Though almost lothe to admit, they weren't terrible. Bland perhaps, but that could be remedied._

_"So much effort for a practicality." Bard sighed but offered no further protest, merely turned back to the Elf as he headed out the door, "Make sure not to add too much shine to Bain's. He wouldn't thank you for that." He smiled before retiring for the night, leaving Thranduil in the private office in the hall they now shared, a grin fading on his lips at the flutter in his stomach._

The two had spent the better part of December together, going over plans, maps, trade negotiations with neighboring towns to bring in the supplies needed. Bard, for his part, certainly had tried to keep his attention focused during these times. But more often than not, he became frustrated at the sheer magnitude of what he'd stepped into. Hide it well though he did, Thranduil had been at this a _long_ time and could always tell in the squared shoulders, the tired eyes, in sighs that were more like growls at having to correct yet another mistake. All apart of his duty of course. At least the man wasn't hauling barrels or dragging corpses anymore. After their private discussions, Bard would find himself with his fellow man, sitting with them during an opportune evening in one of the designated "taverns" of Mirkwood. Strange that were shops, taverns, in a city that had a common dining hall. Strange how homes were hidden and carved into the numerous roots and sidings of the trees and caverns in which the kingdom hid. All of it was a curiosity to Bard, but he was nothing if not adaptable and soon found himself able to walk with fairly no incident around the place. There had been _one_ time in the night where a guard had to catch him by the arm when he'd leaned too far over one of the sides of a path to stare around the glorious world he'd found himself. Laughing it off with some self deprecation on his lack of Elvish balance, he thanked the man and continued on his way.

It was, always would be, over whelming. Never too old for surprises he supposed, but being here amongst such majestic people, with their double meaning speech, fine food, elegant language and physical strength, all was overwhelming. As king now, Bard could never allow himself to be overwhelmed, and so he grew thankful that his people still treated him more as friend than leader in that he could still enjoy a pint or two, speak in their bar room drawl, sing their songs, all without bowing and scraping. He couldn't live with himself if that had come to pass. Certainly he was looked upon with more awe and respect than prior, what with the fear lifted from these poor people's shoulders, but for the most part they'd grown accustomed to the idea rather quickly. After all, it was their idea. Still, while he wasn't exactly sure what caused him to be qualified, he was thankful to have an anchor in his children and his fast friend Thranduil.

Thranduil, with his  guard let down, had been quite the sight to see, and it did something to the bargeman. Thranduil was at ease with him, they'd grown to not only discussing business in their daily discussions, but other topics as well. At first careful and guarded around one another, they eventually began sharing tales of youthful excursions, of their wives, of their children, of daily life, as easily as water passed through fingers. It soothed him, if he were honest, to have someone who clearly cared about _him_. Not that he didn't have friends left in the survivors, not that he didn't have his supportive children, but to have a being who _knew_ , and _understood_ what it meant to be where he was for the most part was nice. It was nice as well to look upon Thranduil's face and see no worry, no stress, when they'd talked. It was like that when they come to an understanding in the king's tent. After a time, Bard became more conscious of his desire to hear Thranduil laugh (a rare treat as Thranduil, like so many of his kin, seemed to walk with an air of being mildly amused as opposed to downright entertained) when he told a joke, of wanting to be near this other, noticing the way his clothes flowed and fit his so well...he pushed it aside as merely foolish musings and kept them lock away inside his mind for reflection when he found himself sleepless at night no matter how soft the bed.

 

Dinner finished and the Bardlings asked their father if they could visit one of their (few remaining) friends in the next hall over. A family of four children and two adults. Thank goodness they'd all gotten out alive. One of the few families that got out whole next to his own.

"Did their parents and hosts say it was alright?" He asked as he stood. With at least six humans and perhaps 2 or more Elves, it was bound to be crowded and he wanted to ensure the kids weren't running away with their plans.

"They're the ones who invited us!" Tilda exclaimed, her newest dress's thread shinning in the light as she bounced on her feet.

"They said we could spend the night if we wanted." Sigrid offered for her two siblings, thankful that there was a young woman around her age amongst the four they were to visit.

"Please Da, its been _ages_ since we've gotten to see them."

Bard casted a sideways glance to Thranduil before putting a show of thinking long and hard,

"Weellll, I suppose then." He answered after a moment, enjoying watching the breath leave his children who'd been waiting and laughing when his youngest pounced on his with their grateful hugs.

"Thanks Da!" They exclaimed as they began running towards their friends and the adults. Sigrid followed more slowly after she gave her father a hug.

"Thank you Da."

 The two watched the children and Thranduil's heart warmed at the sight of such small, young beings, recalling a time when his own son had been so tiny, hugs around his legs unless he bent down so his child could wrap his thin arms around his neck.

"They are quite lovely children Bard. Always so polite. A little zealous naturally, but their youthful energy helps light these halls." Thranduil said, after falling into step with Bard as they turned towards the royal chambers.

"Aye that they are. I'm very proud of my children, would do anything. I'm glad that they've had this time to...adjust. To cope with all that's happened. Poor Tilda on the night Smaug came was so afraid, asked if we were all going to die. Sigrid, so brave in keeping her siblings close, guarding them with her body. Bain, who'd trusted his Da enough to allow me to fell the beast with the use of his shoulder. He carries a scar you know, from the string of the bow where it hit him. Thankfully that's all the string had done. My children are strong, and here they can rest their weary minds. Tilda still has nightmares, so doesn't Bain and Sigrid, but only Tilda admits to them. The other two want so badly to be strong. They've always been like that, since their mother passed." The regret in Bard's voice passed, but Thranduil noticed.

"They will continue to be strong Bard. I'm sorry so much has passed, but your children know you've never intended to push them further than they ever needed to. I understand that they have grown up quickly, but they know you love them, that they do not have to shoulder their burden alone, especially now." Thranduil answered.

"What is so special about now?"

"They have a friend in me as they do you Bard. I'll ensure their safety and comfort to the best of my abilities for as long as they live. I give you my promise."

 

 

 


	3. Rebuilding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil spend some time together during the rebuild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, honestly, this and the next chapter were meant to be one, but guys....I'm posting this chunk here kind of as a place holder. Yay filler!

Bard's muscles strained under the weight  of the wood bundled into his arms. The toils of hard labor were, naturally, not foreign to the bargeman. As a man of the lake, he'd been taken into work at a young age. Times had been difficult, even in Bard's childhood, and an extra income to add to the home was necessary.

And while he faired better hauling fish nets and barrels than with carpentry, at least he could contribute to the busy work of clearing rubble and bringing supplies to where they needed to be. At least, in the cool spring air, surrounded by friends new and old, doing something as focused as this didn't have to come with blood and gore under foot this time.

"I believe I made mention of how remarkable I find you?"

Mindful of the twinging pain in his spine, Bard turned around to the owner of the delicately stern voice.

"Am I? I would not have imagined an ancient Elven King would find me remarkable. Especially as sweat slicked and dirty I am." Thranduil's eyes traveled along Bard's form longer than strictly necessary. Taking note of the man's unbuttoned shirt, the way his skin glistened in the mild chest hair, the enticing way that even smudges of dirt and grime couldn't hinder his lovely face (even if he was wearing that ridiculously tattered coat Thranduil had tried to rid him of just last week) as his eyes made it back to Bard's.

Bard shifted under that gaze, uncertain of the reason Thranduil felt the sudden urge to study a person he'd been living with for months now, and coughed drawing those piercing eyes back to his. If Thranduil looked moderately _caught_ neither made mention.

"You are remarkable for _doing_ the task. If you recall my advice earlier?"

Bard paused, tilting his head in contemplation before readjusting his burden and gesturing with a jerk of his head for the other to follow. Side stepping a bucket of nails, "I think I do. Months ago now if I remember. Something about a king delegates?"

"Correct." Thranduil nodded more to himself, "we are meant to delegate rather than participate aside from special circumstances such as meeting with other delegates and war." Thranduil watched Bard's back. Even in the months of "lounging" as the mortal put it, Bard had not let his strength wane. In fact, the man had gained a few friends amongest his guard by training and practicing with them.


	4. Filler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some character building given I felt the two needed more time together and I wanted to address Bard's children at least in passing despite them, while being important to an extent, not being the main focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this probably isn't well written. That's not self deprecation author exaggeration begging for contradiction, I legit mean that despite having worked on this small chapter for weeks, I really don't know if its well written. I simply wanted to share at least something despite having written most of this very early in the morning and lacking confidence in the quality and tone. Eventually I hope to get back on track with this story, develop the style back to how it originally sounded so that the quality ceases to diminish and give myself more flourished descriptions outside of he said, he said. In any case, here is at least a basic place holder simply to establish more time for the two characters to spend together. I'm exhausted and I hope that whatever meager offering this is, that it at least shows you guys that I haven't forgotten.

Laketown was looking far more splendid than the splintered ashes it had been. Ice cleared away, warm air with a touch of dampness filtered through the skeletal structures of the new homes, some of which had already begun on piping and walls. Bard continued to not heed Thranduil's advice to delegate as opposed to participate, and Thranduil was all the more fascinated in Bard's choices to get his own hands dirty with the busy work. Granted, when it came to the trades, the negotiations, the patience, Thranduil offered the guidance Bard desperately needed in his reluctant rule given his abundance of experience in royal duty.

It had been a good balance between the two of them. Bard being himself with more responsibility to solve the woes of his people and Thranduil assisting him in coming to conclusions without taking away the human's authority or agency in the choices themselves. Thranduil, of course, knew that Bard had yet to truly delve into the actual work of running a kingdom. Currently everything had been familiar, friendly even as he worked alongside his kind and the Elves in the tragedy of war and the pain of rebuilding with Thranduil's (and his people's) hospitality being a good shoulder to lean upon. Bard had yet to negotiate, set up an economy in and out of his town, establish laws of the land, and serve as judge for disputes that couldn't be handled by advisers. Not that he had a counsel of advisers as yet. Perhaps Thranduil could offer some of his own to lend a hand to the mortal. Not that he thought Bard would accept. Outside of necessity (and of course his pride), Bard wasn't one to accept too much assistance. Thranduil could understand that. Especially since Bard had already proven himself able.

That muscled frame certainly was able as it was another day of lifting and hauling for the ex-bargeman. He broke into a wide smile as the king approached where he stood, shirt once again open to a glistening chest.

“Thranduil, welcome.”

“Thank you Bard. How are the children?” Thranduil answered, keeping his eyes level with Bard's to avoid any potential gawking.

“Bain is off with some of your's, assisting in building old Jack's home on the other end there,” Bard gestured his head to a further corner. “From what he's said, Old Jack isn't taking too kindly to “being coddled”.” A note of fond humor in Bard's voice raised the Elf's eyebrow. “Oh?” “Aye. Some of our older survivors don't seem to like having your folk be careful around them. Jack being one of the more out spoken.”

“I see. It reminds me of what you had said before, about feeling useless. It ties into that?”

“Something like that. Being old is already hard and feeling doubly weak in the eyes of another race such as your's makes some of them uncomfortable.”

Thranduil tilted his head and pursed his lips, “Really, I thought that these types of concerns had already been addressed.” He stated with a mild ounce of confusion and perhaps frustration at the humans' stubbornness. “While it is true your kin are weaker than mine in many regards, I'd hoped you come to understand, as with my people, that you are not lesser than us. As I said, it would be hard for my people to come to terms with this line of thinking as it would be for your's to let down their guard. But it has not been too difficult for our peoples over the winter to bond. We alone stand as testament to the bonds we can forge, let alone the numerous ones of my kin who have chosen to adopt the orphans into their homes and raise them both amongst your people and mine so as to further strengthen our alliance.”

Holding up his hands Bard soothed, “I know. I understand your concerns. As you said, it would take time. As easy as it has been for some, it might still be hard for others. It has not been so long since the desolation and the war, some are still there. And some are already hardened and unused to outsiders. They mean no insult Thranduil I assure you. A few months is not so long, even for a mortal, to change an entire mindset and all that goes with it.”

“I suppose.” Thranduil conceded with a breath and almost barely perceivable shrug.

After a pause, Bard reached down to hoist a few buckets of nails, “you're still not dressed for labor I see?” a playful tint lit up his face.

“I've explained before I have no intention.”

“Afraid to get those pretty robes dirty? Or is it your face you're more worried over?” Bard teased as he took note of the ever lavish robes Thranduil often wore. It made the contrast of running into him in the halls at night, or working with him behind closed doors when they were both tired all the more striking considering he'd seen the other in at least four different night gowns and once practically naked when he'd forgotten to knock on the door of the other's chamber in his excitement to show him the latest in the children's projects one morning (Bain having learned from Legolas how to hit a moving target, and Singrid and Tilda learning the basics to riding horses). He'd come to find that Thranduil enjoyed being bothered where his children were concerned and fetching him so that they could show off for him would yield a lovely start to the day.

Thranduil raised and eyebrow, “Speaking of robes, were you not supposed to dress more formally today?”

It had been a point of friction between the two, though Bard was often confused as to why it mattered to Thranduil so much what he wore. His clothes were a mixture of what had been mended from the dwarvish clothes given to his people, what remained of his own clothing including his coat that he absolutely refused to part with, and a handful of basic tunics and pants given to him by Thranduil given he'd passed up several times on anything more lavish. He allowed the other, however, to spoil his children a bit in making the girl's dresses more brightly colored, tailor fitted perfectly, and with better materials, and Bain's more striking as well with intricate designs and perfect fit, with durable clothes with his roughed activities of exploring and practice fighting.

“Aye, but let me put it this way, if they cannot handle my words worth while I'm dressed the way of my people, how I've always dressed, then they don't deserve to hear them at all for they have no respect. It doesn't matter what I wear Thranduil, respect is all that matters and what I have to say matters.” Bard's tone was neutral but pointed, a firmness that he often used when he wanted to scold his children, but not too harshly leaving no room for argument.

It thrilled Thranduil to have someone speak up to him, as gently as Bard often did since becoming friends, let alone a mortal. Most of Bard's people still were uneasy of him. Not afraid, but wary of their actions and speech. Unlike Bard who'd, by this point, had the rare privilege of being invited into his personal chambers simply for leisure of conversation and wine, had seen him in his night gowns which had only ever been witnessed by his personal adviser Milne when coming to fetch him, and often the two delighted in spending time with Bard's children. It had been years, so many years, since Legolas had been so young. To have such wonderful and young children around warmed the Elven king's heart for he now had someone to spoil (despite their modest nature and Bard's half-hearted protests in light of how excited his children were to have another adult in their lives that took interest in their well being).

“As you wish.” Admirable how Bard stuck to his principals, “though thank you for your compliments on my clothing and appearance. Your rugged aesthetic is appealing as well.” Unassuming, with a dry humor,

Thranduil watched the mortal's eyes widen before he coughed and readjusted the buckets in his hands. “Aye, well, thank you." After a moment, Bard's mouth opened as if to speak when they heard a raspy voice attempting to shout.

"I can do it myself you pointed earred gits!"

The two kings thought nothing of hurrying side by side towards the sound of conflict around the bend. An old man, standing by Bain and glaring at at least three Elves who looked both startled and frustrated, pointed his crooked finger at them, back hunched with age, face withered and angry.

"I told you to leave it damn it!"

Bard rushed forward putting down the buckets before approaching the man cautiously, "Jack, what's wrong?" gentle, personal, how odd that Bard was always so familiar with his people, knew most of them by name in fact. Thranduil watched silently.

With his dry voice, choking a bit with the struggle to not let loose frustrated tears, Jack spoke, "They don't listen. They ignore me and treat me like I'm already in the grave Bard. I'm not dead damn it! I'm still able enough! The won't even allow me to help with my own house!"

Before the man could embarrass himself (for Old Jack would certainly be embarrassed to let the tears flow down his cheeks) Bard instantly swept an arm around his shoulders and pulled the man close to his chest so he could whisper in his ear. "Eh, what's this Jack? You're right, you're not dead yet. You'll out live us all if you have your way." Bard's voice soothing with its fond, warm tone and deep timber, "but Jack, you have to let these pointed earred gits help you. They don't mean any harm, aye? Its just been a hard set of months for everyone. They don't think you're weak. Promise. You're tougher than I am." Jack laughed at that, tears stubbornly rolling down his cheeks, "just don't push yourself okay? Let them help. They want to help Jack and we need it. We need you just as we need everyone. Just take it easy. Supervise them for me? Make sure they don't cock it up? Alright?" Jack chuckled wetly before roughly wiping his face and pulling back.

"Alright Bard. I'll...I'll take it easy."

Bard smiled, "you've earned it Jack. You just make sure things are where they need to be and that'll be just fine." He patted the man on the back and gave him a reassuring final smile before turning back to Thranduil and picking back his buckets.

"Bain?" He said, and his son looked over at him, "help Jack find some easy tasks to do okay son?"

"Aye Da."

After coming to stand next to Thranduil once more, Bard offered the king a mildly bashful smile, "sorry about that."

Waving it off Thranduil smiled in return, "think nothing of it. It was endearing to see how close you are with your people and how easily you soothed his concerns whilst ensuring the continuation of the work without any hurt feelings."

"I'm not sure about all that. I've known Old Jack since I was a lad myself. He's one of the oldest people in the town. Surprised he made it out of the attack. But Jack'll out live us all, mark my words." Bard laughed, "sorry about your men though. I hope they aren't upset."

"Frustrated, but they'll hold their tongues. They will be as patient, as they have been, during this. They are not unwise Bard, they understand the passion of those younger than them. Including your _old Jack_. They will take no offense. And should they have, it'll be forgotten as easily as it had come."

"Must be nice, to live so long to forget to be hurt by small things."

"It can be."


	5. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More background, the last one is the juicy chapter. Promise ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this chapter for a 'long' time and this is the stepping stone to the next chapter where things get 'hot', the chapter that the fanart linked to this story is based on. Both chapters have been worked on for quite a while and the final chapter will hopefully be a decent payoff both emotionally and physically.

The distant rumble of thunder, that was the first thing Bard became aware of as he woke. That, and the patter of rain against the colored glass of his skylight. The thought of the skylight brought a sleepy smile to his face. Rather, it was the _Elven king_ who insisted he would come to adore it despite Bard's insistence on simple and practical.

 _"A few comforts surely won't be begrudged you, King Bard, the Dragon Slayer."_ _Thranduil's eyebrow raised in that barely perceivable way and the corner of his lips twitch as Bard, pretending to be put upon, rolled his eyes and sighed._

_"I suppose if you won't let me hear the end of it."_

_"Not for a single day."_

_Bard waved his hand in defeated and huffed a not so frustrated,"Fine."_

That had been a month ago now. It was strange, having spent so many months with the Elves, building the town grander than it had been, having Dwarves come and not only pay for the majority of the supplies but assist them in not only that, but the new construction in Dale, to _finally_ have a bed to call his own. Plush, supporting cushioning under his head, a blanket thick and silky, a mattress filled with the most comfortable stuffings, it was almost as if he hadn't left Mirkwood and the grand hall he'd come to grow used to. He even had a toilet adjacent to his room _with_ running water in both hot and cold. Though, there were differences, such as the smaller size of his room in the tall Great Hall that became _his_ house where he could conduct business as well as have a place to live towards the center of the town. The structures were above the ground and so light filtered through much more brightly here than in Mirkwood. Stepping outside his door brought him out to a hall where there was a personal study with a bookshelf and desk Thranduil had supplied, and three doors spaced fairly fairly apart.

His children had all their own rooms now. Tilda had spent over an hour with two of Thranduil's men telling them where she wanted her things. And despite changing her mind a few times, her bubbly nature and turning it into a game had both of them indulging her, playing along with smiles on their faces. Bard was certain one of them was Linwe who'd adopted one of his people's children. Sigrid, having been used to sharing all her space with her siblings whom she'd taken care of like a second mother, took a while to warm to her new space. Often popping her head into the other's rooms to see how they were fairing. When her belongings were moved in she, while hiding it well, became slightly overwhelmed with the ability to choose and very politely told the Elves helping them that she could manage herself (though they ended up having to assist with the bed in the end given it was much more solid and heavy than she had anticipated). Bain, being fairly young like Tilda, was overjoyed at having his own room and promptly set things up much quicker than either sister. He too, in his eagerness, began to tell the two, while they were setting up the stands for it, about the small sword and bow collection Thranduil and Legolas had gifted to him. They even taught him a few moves, relishing in such childish excitement.

Bard helped them move his own belongings. Having nothing aside from what had been gifted to him, his room was made of a chest of clothes, his bow and quiver (filled generously with arrows), a lavish bed complete with four posters and drapery (though Bard had yet to actually attach the things), and a night side table with a deep drawer. It certainly was more spacious than he had experienced in his lifetime, and it was all his. Though, something was missing. How he wished the children's mother could have been here, to see this, to experience at least a little generosity and quality in life that he'd been unable to provide for. Though, like him, she was a simple and proud woman, and even in the week leading to her death she told him that certainly no woman had ever known the happiness she'd come to know while loving, and being loved by, him.

Pushing aside the sadness inside at recalling his beloved Candice, he sat up in bed and glanced up at the droplets collecting on the red, blue, and clear glass above his head. Thranduil had told him that he needed color in his life. And since he lived on the water and not inside a floral forest, they would have to add some. Despite his initial concerns, he had to admit, the window was a lovely touch that made his room all the more bright, hopeful. That, and the large windows against the far wall that allowed him to look out onto the town's square and over the roof tops. At least they all came with curtains and shutters if it became too bright, otherwise he might never get to sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and popped his back, before pulling himself from bed.

Today, he had to go back to Mirkwood. Thranduil was still helping him understand trade agreements, how to build a monetary system within the town, finalizing agreements with all 3 local kingdoms. They had already gone to the first of the meetings to ensure things were worked out well after the pulse of war was not coursing through them, with Thranduil eyeing him and his flimsy wardrobe the entire time (that made Bard laugh to himself as he took out a simple brown tunic with crossed lacing at the chest and brown pants, topping it off with his jacket). He would be lying if the prospect of spending time with Thranduil did not have appeal. He was a sympathetic face to all Bard had thrusted upon him, allowed him both his guidance and friendship, and went above to be generous and kind to both his family and his people. In the privacy of his own thoughts, he could allow himself a closer inspection of the other's physical aspects as well. He was far taller than most, but at the very least Bard never felt dwarfed by him. That long, lean body, so graceful, so strong. Bard hadn't realized how he had come to admire these traits. His long hair, near silver in its light yellow, silken, soft, Bard had it catch him in the face once or twice when they would share wine or walk together and Thranduil would draw himself that much closer. His personality, at the very least behind closed doors, while still strict, lessened considerably when they were alone. He was almost _playful_ in his teases, in the way he'd give his shoulder a light shove in lew of a dirty joke (most of which he  learned from Candice). Yes, Thranduil had become quite the staple in his life lately, reminding him that he was not alone in this endeavor, he had Thranduil, his children (which the other adored. Drew Sigrid out of her guarded shell of feeling responsible for everyone and got her to have fun around the Elves by joining in a dance _himself_ with her).

Yet, Bard felt alone. He _knew_ he wasn't. There were plenty of Elves and his own to keep him company. He was well liked amongst Thranduil's guards, knew everyone in his town by name, had his children, and Thranduil's friendship. That nagging sensation of missing his wife though kept creeping in. No one could replace her. He wouldn't want them to. But...it had been so long now since he'd gone without her, at least seven years, eight come a few weeks with Tilda's birthday. He missed her, and now with all this, it sunk in how lonely Bard actually felt. In the dark recesses of his mind, the notion of Thranduil appeared. Bard shook his head and began heading downstairs. Even _if_ he were to make a move on the king, he would not know how to handle the embarrassment of rejection. Thranduil would not be so petty as to hold it against him and make him feel unwelcome or rebuke his friendship, but if rejected it could potentially make their relationship awkward. He did not want to risk that, not when Thranduil's friendship alone was so important to him. There was also the pesky notion of mortality. Bard would die, Thranduil would not. If the old tales of Elven romances were to be believed, Thranduil risked death upon his own. At the very least, he risked Thranduil hardening his heart once more in grief. He wished that on no one. Not Thranduil, nor his people. In a strict objective observation, he simply could not measure up to the beauty and strength of an Elf. Naturally he believed and treated those around him as equal regardless of race or status. But he would be lying if atheistic did not factor into a relationship. He cared little for what he looked like, never did, but he _knew_ he was seen as handsome by those around him. Before Candice there were two woman trying to court him, Bell and Domnice, and there had been that young woman (unfortunately dead after Smaug's attack) that used to sell him apples (throwing in an additional one when he wasn't looking) who had been flirting with him. Occasionally he'd catch a lad or two giving him the eye, but nothing ever came of any of them, and by comparison to an Elven Lord who could have his pick, he did not necessarily feel up to the challenge.

_____

It had been one month since the final nail had been set in place and the mortals moved into their vastly superior town. Their gratitude, their bright eyed expressions at the expanded space, the cleaned water, the fact that they had pluming, all warmed his heart (and his people's who'd grown quite fond of their house guests). Of course, the dwarves _did_ eventually come to help in laying sturdier foundations, assisting in the metal works for all the homes and pipes, and in general maintenance. Not to mention back rolling the entire venture, but his people were the ones primarily using their hands, working in the early spring and into the summer to construct the new town and improve it. As Bard had told him, they were guaranteed a ten-fold expanse.

 _Bard_. The name rolled around his mind for some time now. How novel an idea that was, time. A thing that never truly meddled with the king until this point. Time was fleeting moments of joy and despair or simply faded, unimportant snips of experiences that flew passed in a blink. Still, the time with Bard seemed far slower than he'd come to expect in his life. When a century felt like minutes, one did not count seconds. There was no inevitable end to his race, nothing to loom over their heads to make each moment count. And he found himself counting those spent with the mortal. Bard, for all his rugged nature, was a kind hearted, charming man. He made Thranduil laugh behind closed doors, put him at ease. There was no need for pretense in either man. He filled also the lonesome void he had come to realize he'd been trapped in. The other sympathized with the loss of a beloved. He never would not miss her, her beautiful voice drowsy with sleep as she woke, the calculated strategic mind that led them both to victory, the way she would create small stories and write them down just for his eyes. She was a glorious woman whom he loved, trusted, and knew her bravery when she would fight alongside him in battle. Bard... _Bard_ would not replace his wife, but damn if he did not stand alongside her as equal in desirability. Loyal, outspoken, bold, kind, merciful, and similar life experience to himself all culminated into a rather physically attractive mortal man.

Today that man would come back to spend a weekend with him, go over papers that they had to sign and send to near by towns and cities for supplies and the like. Thranduil had been assisting him in the busy work, but hopefully the human had a firm enough grasp for him to begin transferring the work to him. Despite the tedium of paper work, Thranduil found the prospect of spending time with Bard a very anticipated one. He found he missed running into the man in his hall way, sitting next to him in his dinning hall, drinking wine. Of course they'd only known each other for a few months, but those months were a very strong trial by fire, and they had come to know so much about each other professionally as kings, and personally as friends. It had not been more than a month since Thranduil had spoken face to face with Bard, but the few human children running around his kingdom reminded him of the man and his family, and the singular letter they'd exchanged reminding him of needing to be in Mirkwood today was not enough contact. His heart near fluttered at the thought that in a few hours, Bard would be in his halls again.


	6. Bang part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil finally makes his move on the bargeman turned king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a nod to this wonderfully cheeky commenter who said that they hoped it ended with a bang....it does.

The beginning of Bard's visit was thankfully spent in food and wine given that he arrived in mid afternoon. The two kings ate in the dinning hall and it was as if there had been no time apart as they resumed comfortable talk over Bard's new found kingdom, his children (which Thranduil was particularly interested in, and how Bard himself was fairing). Thranduil gave Bard notice of the human children (seven in total) that had been accepted into the homes of his people and from what he'd been told, they were well adjusted to their new lives here, and enjoyed the options to go and see the other humans, of his kingdom being blessedly ridden of spiders (for now) after the battle as if all the darkness had been sucked away. Dwarves were sent as envoys to both kingdoms separately and thankfully it was almost always Balin. If ever a dwarf could be respected by an elf, it would be him. At the very least, Thranduil never near got into a fist fight with _him_ and their meetings tended to go by much faster when Thorin and Dain were absent.

After lunch, the two went to Thranduil's counsel room with a massive deep brown table resided, along with at least three elves baring messages and orders for both Thranduil and Bard from the neighboring villages and cities that had trade agreements and receipts for the supplies used in the rebuilding of Laketown. Thranduil had helped Bard ficilitate much of it, having signed for the majority of the supplies himself, but today Thranduil was going to let Bard have a go primarily by himself.

Five hours later, only half of the work had been completed and Bard, ever growing in his embarrassment and frustration over his inability to understand fully, had him calling for a break until early next morning where he promised to complete all of the work after having a chance to look it all over tonight.

That is where he was now, alone, in the little study Thranduil and he had been sharing with its plain, dirt colored walls, small desk, singular lantern, and a small shelf nailed into the wall with tiny Elvish children's stories in tattered volumes that he'd never notice unless Thranduil gave them to Tilda (apparently the young girl wanted to learn Elvish according to her father). He'd run his hands through his hair at least four times, clenched his hands into fist as he stared straight down at the papers before him having chosen to stand rather than sit and thus having his back to the doorway and so only by the soft shut of the door did he turn around.

Bard's breath hitched as the sight of ethereal beauty entered the room. Dressed in a white/silver nightgown with a sharp V diving between his pectorals, with silver thread inlaid into the fabric, and an _almost_ translucence, created delicate regality and temptation that Bard had not expected in this visit if the comical drop of his jaw (and quick recovery) told him anything. He'd seen Thranduil in nightclothes before, but none that offered such a glimpse of skin and shape through the fabric. The lack of modesty, and confidence to back it, boiled Bard's blood and exited his mouth in a clumsily blurted,

"My Lord Thranduil." His head turned back to the tedium on the desk in his haste and so he missed the upturn of Thranduil's lips and lidding of his eyes.

"My Lord Bard," he replied in kind, "how do you fair?"

"Hmm?" Bard, lost for words in lew of his start, refused to move his eyes from the desk and pretend he was engrossed in the work, though Thranduil noticed his quill remained in its inkwell.

"With your work. It had not been so much after all."

If Bard had snorted, he covered it poorly with a cough, "Aye, well, it is not exactly the kind of work one is keen to push through."

The silence that followed almost had Bard turn his head to see if the other was still in the room, until the heat of Thranduil's chest and stomach pressed against his back.

The light trickle of the woodland king's voice flowed into his ear, teasing, smug, "You seem unwell dragon slayer. Flushed, unsteady breath."

Bard's muscles stiffened in his middle and stomach, "I'm well Thranduil." the lie sluggish on his tongue.

An arm came round his waist, as did breath against the shell of his ear.

"Perhaps you are in need of a distraction." A statement, not a question.

Absently, Bard wet his lips, heart thumping in his chest, increasingly aware of the warmth of the other's body, of the muscle, of his building fear at realizing where he was, what could happen, what did it mean if it did, "I...need to finish this." Weak, unconvincing.

The vibration of the other's laugh caught him off guard and when he jumped it made that laughter harder, "Do carry on with your work," a hand snuck down to the ties of his pants, "and I shall endeavor," he pulled them lose causing Bard to grunt and keep his hands on the table, "to make the task far less taxing for you. A king needs to learn to multitask after all." He plush lips brushed against Bard's cheek and the mortal subconsciously tilted his head into it, "I will teach you."

Bard's yelp and bend forward, pushing the table forward an inch with a sharp scratch against the floor, almost made Thranduil laugh again as he began to gently palm the mortal's cock that started to twitch and harden.

Oh how long had it been? Years now to be sure. So occupied with grief and his children, and the matters of a difficult life, Bard had only ever managed a few quiet moments to himself in the past 8 years. It was all the man could do to stay quiet and still (for certainly guards, or a passerby at least, would hear what with their perfect hearing), let Thranduil's hand run up and down his shaft in slow, damn near loving, strokes. Had the table not been at his lower stomach, and Thranduil's arm around him, it might not have the will to stand. The surreal of the moment crashed into him at first, uncertainty of letting this happen, what it would mean, but with long, cool fingers gentle and tender wrapped around his shaft had him thinking not with his head.

Thranduil felt Bard's cock grow in his hand and grinned as he pressed kisses along his neck and cheek. How long had it been to have a writhing lover in his arms? Craving his touch and they clutched so desperately for leverage? He was certain that Bard would be dismayed that he'd crumpled several of their agreements under his trembling fingers, yet with the chopped gasps he rung from the man, it wouldn't be until morning when he'd have to explain why they got so damaged to the advisers since it was highly disrespectful to treat them so roughly. The thought of Bard fumbling his way through excuses and lies made the Elven king delighted.

 All the world narrowed to himself, Thranduil, and the elf's hand. Blanketed in the haze behind closed eyes, the mortal became lost, fully surrendered to the other's will. Thranduil could ask of him anything and he would do it. Pleasure in intangible, electric sensations trickled from pelvis to skull, back to the tips of his toes, he quivered in his boots as Thranduil twisted at the tip of his leaking cock.

"Thranduil." Bard felt his neck and jaw tense as he leaned his head back against the other's shoulder, eyes shut tight, the crush of paper in his grip. Please, anything, more, he wanted to say, but couldn't manage in lew of the sudden spike radiating in his cock. Thranduil understood however and began to quicken his movements, roughen his hand.

"Ah!" If there had been doubt in what they were doing, it had been dispelled.

The brush of Thranduil's lips, so teasing, barely there, yet everywhere aside his own. In vain he'd tried at least twice to capture those lips with his own. Twice Thranduil avoided with a sly grin and favored Bard's neck and cheek instead. The press of their bodies, even clothed, was erotic, warm, and the intimacy never escaped even the farthest away thoughts the two had. Never once had a word been spoken about their mutual loneliness, they favored pleasant topics or strict business in their meetings either professional or friendly, and yet they knew.

On the cusp of climax however, Bard found he could handle the teasing no longer, the pleasure mounting, he found determination for one maneuver and as the Elf's lips brushed his temple, he shot out his arm behind him under that of the Elf king, gripped tight at his shoulder and tugged him down to his level in a firm kiss.

It broke upon him like a wave upon the shore and as his muscles stiffened, stomach shaking, and in thick spurts Bard felt as if all his bones were turned to jelly as they landed on the floor and dribbled onto Thranduil's hand. Bard pulled away from Thranduil to bend over the table and groan. Pulses and aftershocks racked the mortal's body as he tried and failed to catch his breath. Upon the final shudder, Thranduil's arm truly was the only thing holding him up.

After a moment, "You hardly got any work done." Thranduil stated in a mock scold with brought a breathy laugh out of the slack human leaning against his chest again.

"That is hardly my fault."

"Perhaps you need more lessons?"

Bard made a noise of disbelief, "I've enough trouble dealing with one! Unless your goal is to kill me by night's end." He glanced up through his lashes and licked his lips, raising his hand up to run it along Thranduil's cheek with the back of his knuckles.

"I am certain I could coax another two or three," he paused at that startled disbelieving noise and chuckled, "with minimum damage. Least of all your life. Then again, you should only be so lucky. It is not many to die in ecstasy. Let alone by my hand," he leaned to press his lips to the top of Bard's head and whispered, "or mouth." 

"Damn."

"Come," Thranduil reached down to tuck Bard back into his pants before taking his hand and turning him about to face him, "I'll show you." His promise spurred Bard's trembling leg muscles into motion as he allowed himself to be led by an impatient tug.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, one more chapter. I've got to think up a bit more of how I want it to play out. I mainly had this scene fleshed out. I hope it was well written/enjoyable.


	7. Bang 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter that hopefully will be tender and well received.

The two swept passed any on lookers with not a glance to spare as they became blurs in their quickened pace, Thranduil leading him with a mild pull to his arm. If Bard had been concerned what the Elves would think of his heated skin, Thranduil's clothes, or that their lord was leading the foreign lord by hand, it only wiggled slightly in the back of thought. Too occupied with that large hand in his. All smooth, inhumanly so, and long fingers, the other's grasp renewed his energy and made him forget the pleasure wrought fatigue in his body in an effort to keep up.

The few minutes to travel to the gilded doors of Thranduil's room passed in a blink and the two stood now, face to face, Bard reaching down to take the other's free hand into his.

"The first time we hold hands, and it is so you can execute me." Bard, keeping his eyes on Thranduil's, raised the back of the Elven lord's hands to his mouth before kissing them each in turn, his facial hair scrubbing against the skin, lips leaving warmth behind.

Tilting forward so that their lips were near touching, Thranduil whispered, "we shall have to hold hands more often, should you survive of course." he pecked quickly at the bowman's mouth before he could respond with a fond _I would like that_.

A few more teasing pecks had Bard growl in frustration before lifting his heavy paw of a hand to the back of the Elf's head and tugging him down. After a leisurely indulgent kiss the mortal pulled away, "really now I thought we were done with teasing?" though the word held nothing more that anticipation, husked out in lust and affection.

"My dear bargeman, you would not think I would make your death so swift now would you?" Thranduil played along before reaching back to take Bard's hand from his hair and entwine their fingers. "I should not think to let you get off so easily."

They grinned as star crossed young things might when courting one another in the moonlight, giddy, playful, "Oh my mistake _my lord_." eyes following Thranduil's arm reach out to grab at the handle of his chamber and push the door open. Gracefully the Elf walked backward, pulling Bard behind him, and promptly shutting the door by pressing the man against it with a loud thunk.

Kisses rained over Bard's lips, cheeks, and neck as Thranduil settled against his body, warm, lean, and held his arms over his head with a non-brusing but still firm grasp. He belonged to Thranduil tonight, that much was certain. And while still shy and hesitant at the implications their coupling could bring, it was shooed away to a quiet part of Bard's mind as he relished the strong body pressed against his. Strange how much taller Thranduil was that his cock rutted against Bard's belly. Even through the layers of his own clothes, Bard could feel the impressive weight of Thranduil's member against him. Not only had it been a long time since he'd lain with his wife, but longer still had he lain with a man. Not that he'd been opposed to it after all. Laketown's people, for all their suspicion of outsiders, were rare to turn against one another, least of all for the private affairs of bed and/or heart, and for his rowdy days in youth laying with those willing to be with him, he never once felt the need to hide or be ashamed. They truly were good people.

"Ah!" the bite did not hurt, but the sudden contrast of sharp in light of the persistently pleasurable kisses startled him.

Thranduil whispered into the stinging ear, "Do not fade into your mind for this bowman, I want you here with me at all times."

"My apologies, I was merely contemplating how lucky I am to be here with you," he offered a boyishly joyful grin that seemed to placate the other who merely pressed another kiss to his lips and pressed a knee to between his legs when he'd relaxed into it. "Ah, damn."

"Hmm, I see that you've still life in you if you are able to offer such sweet flattery. Come, the bed is far more comfortable for this than the cold wall. After all, your mortal back would surely ache to be pressed against it too long, as would your knees. I would hate to have to catch you again should they give out." A mischievous glint twinkled in Thranduil's eye and Bard could not tell if the jab was friendly teasing or a serious comment on his kind's limitations. In either case he merely shook his head and replied with both a jab of his own as well as a gentle rubbing of himself and the titles that still rolled heavy on his tongue,

"You'd have the honor of kissing it better. After all, it it not only I who is lucky. You've landed yourself with a dragon slaying king after all." That earned a chuckle as they pulled away from the wall and Thranduil led him to the opposite side of the room where the bed, up two small steps, rested in its own alcove, surrounded by gossamer like curtains, a skylight of Thranduil's own peeked up at the branches and stars above, filtering weak moonlight down upon them. It was in that moonlight that Thranduil glowed before Bard's eyes, before promptly placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back onto the downy blankets which had the human fall into a sitting position with a little bounce.

"Bard," Thranduil lifted one, then the other, of his sculpted long legs over Bard's so that he could straddle his hips, noticing the widened pupils of his mortal's eyes, "you are far too over dressed for my liking."

Thin fingers began to lift the coat from his shoulders and unfortunately this required them to move so that he could lift up and toss it off to the side before Thranduil rushed to pin him now full onto his back, legs dangling off the end of the bed like a child in a grown person's seat. Tongue slide forcefully into the human's mouth, swift and wet, moving carefully around, but confident as it probed his own tongue into moving. Bard never enjoyed kissing with tongue up to this point. It felt invasive, strange most of the times he had tried it, yet Thranduil's bold sweeps ran a shutter through his being as he allowed himself to be used as the other seemed fit.

Thranduil ran his hands along Bard's chest in steady ups and downs for a while before reaching down to the hem of his tunic to lift it up. Only breaking their kiss to pull the garment off his head, Thranduil came back with that clever tongue and now those smooth hands so delicate and warm against his chest. Relaxing, tedious movements that tickled pleasantly up his ribs, down his side, over his nipples. Like tongue ruled kisses, his nipples never interested him. While the occasional twerk from his wife might have passed, Thranduil's ghosting finger tips were oddly pleasant. Strange, but pleasant to his touch starved body. Swishes of Thranduil's feather light clothes brushed against him with each heartfelt stroke of Thranduil's hands, a secondary sensation of gentle pleasure.

Up until this point Thranduil had been content in his kisses, his touches, and while he had originally aimed to drag the teasing out, his own need throbbed at the little sighs and complete trust the mortal gave to him. Bard was right, Thranduil agreed as he pulled back to observe his now bleary eyed lover, who gazed up to him with such arousal and adorable affection, he was lucky to have this man in his bed.

"I feel your _need_ Bard." For emphasis the Elf gave a gentle rock of his previously still hips earning a gasp and closed eyes. "You are growing in want again. Slower this time but still there. Do you still balk at the notion that _I_ could wring from you much more pleasure this evening?"

Bard swallowed before opening his eyes and answering, "I may have one more go in me yet Thranduil, if you see fit to keep your promise about your mouth."

Tilting his head Thranduil kept his tone vague, "Ah yes, I might recall a suggestion of a promise." he shifted his gaze downward, "one I might be eager to keep if I could but hear your voice rise in ecstasy."

Rubbing Bard's hips with his hands for a moment, Thranduil shifted so that he was kneeling to the side of Bard. Gesturing with a casual wave of his hand, Bard understood and pushed himself back up the bed so that he now rested his head and back against a ridiculously large pillow. Slow and graceful as with all his movements, Thranduil went to Bard's boots before untying them and depositing each on the floor with a soft thud. Then those ghosting, wonderful hands were rubbing at his skin again, his kisses returned but this time Bard felt the soft wet touches against his chest. 

A swift swipe of a slick tongue lapped at his left nipple as the right was treated to a caress that gave Bard a moment to sigh before his stomach clenched at Thranduil's wandering downward along his abdominal muscle.

"You have many scars. Rough skin as if wind chapped and dry." the elf observed as he touched and kissed ever lower.

"Do you dislike it?" Bard questioned, glancing down.

Thranduil met his eyes before placing a kiss to his belly and pressing his cheek to the muscle there, "I adore it."

Bard lifted his face to the ceiling and secretly beamed at the praise. Compliments often made him uncomfortable as if he were not deserving, yet Thranduil's approval made him yearn and joy filled. Where Thranduil was elegance and beauty, Bard was rough and handsome, and it had worried him how his body might come across to such an ancient creature that captivated him and radiated with such wonderful light at first. Not that his appearance _mattered_ , but it would have put him out if Thranduil had been disappointed.

Choosing not to tease Thranduil quirked an eyebrow at the startled noise he got when he'd managed to shift himself fast enough to yank Bard's pants down in one go. He did not give Bard a glance as he for went teasing in favor of running his tongue full along the underside of Bard's half hard cock.

"Mmmm!" Bard's body jolted, stiff and straight backed as he found he could not control his body's reaction to sudden pleasure of a curious and skilled tongue against his heated member. More so, he nearly screamed when Thranduil wasted not a second in wrapping his lips around the head and swirling his tongue around it.

"Ah! Thr..." Bard could barely breathe as his cock rose higher from the thatch of dark hair at his pelvis and into the other's mouth. Had he not closed his eyes, with back arched and head pushed back into the pillow, he might've seen the triumphant glint in the other's eye and _seen_ rather than _feel_ that smirk as Thranduil began to take his freshly stimulated cock into his mouth.

His world became narrowed once more, this time more strongly given the over sensitivity of hardening for a second time so quickly, to the pleasure Thranduil chose to give to him. His hips were roughly pushed back down to the bed as he barely had a chance to gasp in his breath. He only just registers the nice fuzz against his bare rear as Thranduil began to suck and bob his head up and down, taking his time as if Bard were a delicious cut of meat that he wanted to savor. The Elf made no attempt to hide the lewd suckling sounds as he kept the pressure consistent.

So good. Bard could clench only at the bed sheets beneath him as the slide of Thranduil's tongue against his shaft altered from fast and light to hard and slow, all while kept in that consistent vacuum. So damn good. He would tell Thranduil so, had he not been reduced to incoherent pants and groans, tossing his head back and feeling the sweat collect on his skin.

Up and down, slick, warm, Thranduil kept him on the edge for he knew not how long. Each time he neared climax, the other purposefully slowed or stilled his movements until he was certain Bard would not come before starting again.

It was the third time that Bard _whined_ involuntarily at having yet another climax snatched from him and feeling he would be driven to madness if he wasn't granted release soon, that Thranduil gave Bard a reassuring squeeze to his hips before becoming steady once more, rolling his tongue more assuredly against the head of his cock, bobbing faster and faster in time with Bard's increase in moans.

After another minute, Thranduil gave a particularly strong suck and all because a void of the colorful shapes behind his eyelids and the destinct sensation of a highly intest climax tearing through his body, knocking all wind out of him and leaving him floating as it spilled from him and into the other's mouth in several powerful spurts.

When Bard collapsed back onto the bed, panting and sweating, Thranduil pulled off of him with a gentle pull off before spitting his seed onto the floor nearest the bed. Thranduil waited as Bard panted with his eyes closed and body shook on and off with the after shocks of his release. When finally his eyes cracked open he saw the Elven king above him with swollen red lips, damp with spit and what little of him that hadn't reached the floor. Thranduil otherwise looked ever stunning and undisturbed as he waited for Bard's body to relax once more and when Bard reached up with a shaking hand, he allowed himself to be brought down to the mortal's lips.

"That, was amazing."

"Yet you still live. I have yet done what I set out to do." Thranduil teased as he placed a kiss to the corner of Bard's mouth and then his damp forehead.

"Oh Thranduil, surely you can't have something even better planned? i can barely lift my arms." Bard let out a tired huff and as if to demonstrate his arm fell from its perch on the other's arm where he'd pulled him down, and landed back onto the bed.

"Oh but my lord underestimates me. I have at least one more thing in store for you. I am sure you will rise for the occasion. I have to slake my own lust, and I am certain you will be a more than willing participant. I will make it good for you to be." He rose from the bed leaving Bard to bask in his afterglow before promising to return shortly.

What came to pass that Bard should be so lucky to find himself at the mercy of a beautiful Elven king like this? A dear friend and ally, a clearly experienced and tender lover, Bard would have to say that he was fortunate indeed to find the love and comfort of another in one such as Thranduil.

The bed dipped back and said Elven king came back into his view, "You didn't have to stay perfectly still."

"No will to go anywhere else. If truly my death is upon me, I'll gladly have it dealt by your hands." Thranduil smiled and cupped Bard's cheek, "That and I couldn't walk even if I tried," which left them both laughing again. Thranduil never laughed so easily as he did with Bard.

"Then be prepared to spend a week recovering my friend," from his other hand Thranduil produced a little blue bottle with silver inlanes. It took a moment to register the implications in Bard's wonderfully hazed mind, but when he did, he came back down just a little with widened eyes.

"If you would permit me? I would like to have you in the fullest way I could." Thranduil bent to capture the other's mouth again, this time much more tender, slower than previous kisses, before coming back up for air, "Bard the Bowman, I would make love to you like no one has before if you but grant me your trust." the earnest but soft spoken plea clenched at Bard's heart with how much Thranduil cared.

"Aye. I trust you Thranduil, aye. Finish me off quickly you damn teasing brute!" He finished with flourish, too flushed and tired to make the words seem even playfully aggressive as Thranduil tried not to jump with joy.

"Very well. If you can no longer handle my teasing, I shall endeavor to end your suffering."

 

Bard had been utterly relaxed all the while, not once fearing Thranduil would hurt him (despite the glimpses of that rather impressive shaft he caught through his near translucent night gown) as the other began to prep him. While the sensation was odd, it wasn't painful to be stretched as such at first. The Elf had lubricated both him and his finger before pressing it inside. And despite the natural reluctance of his body, he held none of his own which made the penetration that much easier. That was until the second finger leaving Bard to sift a little in pain at the mild stinging each in and out began to give.

"I swear it will not last long." Thranduil answered when Bard hissed.

He knew he was right, he'd done this before after all. It just had been a while.

After a few more minutes the pain had subsided into that strange stretching feeling again and once used to that, another finger was added. Just as before the stinging increased, and while it did not fully dissipate, it was not unbearable as Thranduil worked him carefully.

"Soon it will feel as if you are engulf only by the pleasure and me." Thranduil promised in a deep voiced whisper as he waited for Bard to fully adjust to the fingers he had inside running as deep as he could manage while giving small scissoring movements to help open Bard to himself.

When Bard was stretched and slicked enough that he no longer hissed in pain at the fingers, Thranduil pulled them slowly out before reaching to the bottom hem of his night gown.

"Leave it on."

They blinked at one another for a second at Bard's hasty outburst before Thranduil merely rolled the garment up enough to expose his swollen, red, cock to the air. Already dipping in excitement at the sight of Bard against his pillows, hair matted against his forehead and bare body for his eyes alone waiting for him.

He climbed back to the bed and adjusted Bard so that both his legs would be draped over the other's shoulders. "Ready love?"

Bard screwed his eyes shut and nodded.

The breech was slow, burning, but the stretching pain and burn were limited due to the care he'd been given and the oil easing the way so he felt no need to call and end to this. So slow, so _full_. Thranduil was not gigantic, but he did not leave much room for anything else either Bard mused as he adjusted to the cock, pulsing and large, inside of him.

"I'm going to move. Brace yourself." Careful and tediously Thranduil withdrew, only to push back in just the same. Slow, careful ins and outs with his nightgown falling around Bard's hips and covering his barely twitching member.

Starlight. Damn if Thranduil's brilliance and calm demeanor while being balls deep inside him did not remind him of the cold blue glow of starlight. Stunning, and wonderful to watch as he failed to keep his own eyes open to study Bard's reaction as he began to quicken his thrusts. The somewhat painful ache of his cock coming back to life nearly shook Bard from the moment. Again? How could he so soon? Thranduil managed to glance down and see the fabric of his nightgown that had fallen over the mortal rise a bit which had him flash a smirk towards Bard who promptly turned his face into the pillow.

"My...you seem to not...give yourself credit...dragon slayer," he punctuated each burst of speech with a particularly firm thrust, "you have amazing stamina for a mortal." Assured that Bard was well adjusted to him now, and beginning to grow aroused (though slower than either time prior) again, the Elf adjusted his angle and began pressing the head of his cock against this little spot that made Bard yelp in surprise.

It had, up till now, only felt like a mild burning, pleasure hanging on the very edges. Then Thranduil found that spot that made his body become far more aroused. While not a magic spot that could bring him to climax instantly, the constant, unrelenting, faster paced thrusting of desperately aroused Elven king just might. The light scent of lavender drifted into the air in soothing wafts off the Elf's damp skin and the sticky slaps of flesh on flesh curled Bard's toes and Thranduil groaning as he tightened his grip on Bard's waist just above his hips.

"Bard...you are a gift. Finer than the jewels of my people I would say." Long blond hair clung about his neck and shoulders as he threw his head back and pounded into the now panting human beneath him. The pressure in his cock had grown so immense in his patience to seduce and pleasure the bowman that when he finally released into the welcoming heat of Bard's body, it was all he could do to keep himself upright. Pulse after pulse the wetness of Thranduil's release spilled into Bard who groan as he felt the mess push into him in a fine mess. So erotic to have the other king pay him one of the finest compliments he possibly could while being reduced to pleasured climax by being with him, had Bard's own cock give one final release of its own, pushing a long stripe of come up against the fabric of Thranduil's clothes and subsequently his pelvis and lower belly.

When Thranduil pulled out, Bard tried not to concern himself with the drip that slid down the crease of his arse, or the ache that was left behind, and instead focused on yanking Thranduil to his side and kissing him for he could never grow tired of the other's kisses.

Thranduil, sated and sweating, kissed the other fiercly and almost delighted in how exhausted he had made the other, "looks as if we shall get the chance to hold hands after all." he said, laying back against the pillows and pulling the mortal up and against his chest.

"Suppose so, aye."

They settled into each other, the glow of their affections left in the cooling of sweat on their skin.

"Do all Elves have such bed clothes?"

"Only when we want to tempt another."

"It suits you."

They didn't need to say goodnight or I love you, it hung in the air between them as they cuddled and allowed sleep to over run them in their hazed bliss. They would certainly make use of this new found aspect of their relationship, thought it would take a lot of effort to learn.

They could learn. They would have to. Their love was worth it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks. I hope you enjoyed what I've written. I hope that this story was sufficiently romantic as it was erotic. I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback :) It took me quite a few months, missed deadlines and headaches, but I am finally finished.


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